Thane’s head snapped toward him with a snarl, and Riven barely had time to brace before he was tackled to the ground, the full weight of Thane’s body slamming into him like a falling wall. The air exploded from his lungs as they hit the cold stone, his bones rattling from the impact. Thane’s hands clawed for purchase, seeking flesh, seeking damage.
They rolled, fists and elbows and knees catching on ribs and shoulders. Riven twisted, shoved, fought not to win but just to survive. He knew Thane could kill him without trying—but some part of Thane had to be in there. It had to be.
“Thane!” he choked out, even as he scrambled back across the floor, distancing himself. “It’s me. It’s me. Look at me.”
Thane snarled again, but it faltered—just slightly. His head jerked in a twitchy, animal way.
Riven’s chest heaved. He could barely feel his ribs. His lip was split. His hands trembled from adrenaline and fear. But he kept his eyes locked on Thane’s.
“You don’t want to do this,” he said, softer now, hoarse. “You know me. You know my voice.”
Thane crouched, breathing like a predator poised to strike, but his fingers flexed with hesitation.
Riven swallowed hard, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted to break free.
“I know you’re in there. And I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
Silence.
Then Thane growled, low and rumbling, and launched forward again—this time slower, more uncertain, like some part of him was fighting it.
And Riven didn’t run. He didn’t flinch. He stood his ground.
Thane’s body jerked as the Soulglass surged through him again, a violent twitch in his muscles telegraphing what came next. With a roar, he seized Riven by the throat, lifting him bodily from the ground like he weighed nothing at all.
Riven’s boots kicked uselessly in the air, his fingers clawing at Thane’s wrist, trying to pry it loose. Nothing budged. Thane’s grip was like iron, his eyes wild and vacant—no recognition, no mercy. Stars burst behind Riven’s vision as the lack of oxygen burned through his chest. Panic scrambled his thoughts.
Too strong—
His fingers fumbled, half-blind, diving into the inside pocket of his jacket. His lungs screamed, darkness crowding the edges of his vision.
There.
The syringe was smooth and cold against his palm, the plastic fragile compared to the crushing pressure on his windpipe. He couldn’t get close enough.
Riven swung, wrapping his legs around Thane’s waist, locking his ankles behind him and hauling his own body inward,closer, close enough that he could feel the shudder of Thane’s ragged breathing against his chest.
With what little strength he had left, he drove the needle into Thane’s side. The plunger depressed with a soft click, and the serum emptied into Thane’s bloodstream.
Thane’s grip didn’t loosen right away.
It tightened.
Riven’s vision began to tunnel, edges going soft and dark as pain spiked in his skull. His lungs burned. Thane’s eyes—still wide, still empty—stared through him, not at him. There was no hesitation in them, no flicker of restraint. Just cold, mechanical violence, like watching a storm bear down with no chance to stop it.
The pressure built. Riven’s fingers spasmed, the syringe falling from his hand and clattering to the floor, useless now.
This is it,he thought distantly.This is how it ends.
And then—
A flicker of something, recognition like a ripple through murky water. A crease of confusion in Thane’s brow. The faintest slackening of his grip.
Riven, instead of fighting, lifted one shaking hand—not to claw, not to struggle—but to hold Thane’s wrist. Just hold it.
His fingers curled around the familiar scarred skin, firm but unthreatening.I’m here,the touch said.Come back.
Thane’s breathing hitched.