But even as he started toward the door, every step felt like he was still carrying Thane’s voice inside him. Still burning from it.
Chapter 11
Riven had never known silence could be so loud.
The Virellien estate sprawled like a labyrinth designed to disorient—vaulted halls that twisted back on themselves, staircases that led to landings with no doors, and corridors that looked identical no matter how many turns he took. Pale stone walls blurred together, broken only by the occasional black-veined crystal or the ghostly flicker of bioluminescent vines that offered more confusion than clarity. It was easy to get turned around. Easier still to feel watched. Reflections lingered in polished glass that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Footsteps echoed behind him even when he was sure he was alone.
He wandered now, hands in his pockets, still dressed in the soft linen shirt and black trousers someone had delivered to his suite. Even off-mission, the wardrobe here whispered,owned.
They’d given him a room with a view of the inner gardens—lush and low-lit, spirals of moon lilies and shadowroot blooming beneath a domed canopy of glass. It was too beautiful. Too curated. Like everything else here, it felt ornamental—and deadly.
He passed through an arched hallway and stepped into the east wing, trailing fingers over a column that thrummed beneathhis palm. The estate had magic layered through its bones, humming softly like breath.
Riven wasn’t sure what drew him deeper, only that he couldn’t sit still. Not with the memory of last night replaying every time he blinked. Not with Thane’s voice still pulsing heat through his veins like poison.
He hadn’t seen Thane since the debrief.
He didn’t like how that bothered him.
Riven rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into a tall elf in slate-colored robes, hair tied back in a severe knot.
The elf was tall and spare, with a scholar’s poise and a soldier’s eyes. He wore a matte black bomber jacket with subtle sigil embroidery across the shoulders, layered over a longline slate-gray tee that hung just past his hips. Slim black tactical trousers tucked into high-end combat sneakers completed the look—clean, intentional, and built for movement. A silver pin shaped like an open eye glinted from the collar of his shirt, catching the light just enough to mark significance. His hair, pale ash with a streak of deeper gray, was tied back in a tight knot at the nape of his neck, revealing a set of faint scars trailing under his left jaw—knife marks.
The man raised a brow. “You must be the new shadow.”
Riven stepped back, instincts prickling. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Hmm.” The elf’s mouth curved faintly. “Relax. I’m not here to test your loyalty.”
Riven didn’t answer. Everything in this place felt like a trap, or a test, or a puzzle for him to solve, and all were threats in some form or another.
“Name’s Leron,” the elf said, unfazed. “Archivist. Sometimes interrogator. Mostly a parasite Thane keeps around because I know too much about him. We grew up together.”
Riven lifted his eyebrows. “You knew him before he was the Knife?”
“I knew him before he stopped smiling.” Leron looked him over. “Ever wonder what he looks like when he’s happy?”
“I don’t wonder about him at all,” Riven muttered the lie, not meeting Leron’s gaze.
That earned him a dry chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a spine. That’s something.” Leron turned, gesturing for Riven to follow. “Come. You’re not going to learn anything skulking through the halls like a thief. Let me show you the parts of this house most people pretend don’t exist.”
Riven hesitated—then moved. No one else in the House had extended a hand like this to him, and being in someone’s good graces might be beneficial.
They passed through a sunken garden lined with blackened statues. Leron pointed out each one.
“Former allies. Failed heirs. Members of the family who have died—most recently his father.”
“You mean Thane’s father?”
A pause. “Yes. He was assassinated. Thane took care of it.”
Riven felt a tight flicker in his gut. “Took care of it how?”
Leron smiled without warmth. “However he needed to.”
They moved into a smaller wing then, more lived-in. Warmer. Bookshelves and low couches. Music drifting faintly from a harp that played itself in the corner, the music feeling out of place among the brutality of House Virellien.
“You’re not the first stray to be brought into the estate,” Leron said. “But you are the first Thane’s let stay in his wing.”
