“Thane says I’m to break you in,” the twin said.
Riven blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
The twin grinned, showing sharp canines. “Training. What did you think I meant?” He straightened and stepped forward, offering a casual hand. “Cassian.”
He was hard to miss—tall and lean, all lithe muscle under a loose black tank and low-slung combat pants. His skin was a deep, glossy black, sweat already beading along his collarbone from whatever warmup he’d been doing. His golden eyes caught the light, eerie and striking against the darkness of hiscomplexion. His hair was tightly braided back from his face in intricate rows, neat and clean and functional. Effortlessly predatory, like he moved through the world already knowing he was faster, better, deadlier.
Riven didn’t take the hand.
Cassian didn’t seem to mind. “Suit yourself.”
He turned without waiting and tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Gym’s this way.”
They moved through winding halls and down a flight of stairs until they reached a lower level that felt older—less showy. The gym was spartan and enormous, with reinforced flooring and high ceilings. Steel racks lined the walls, packed with weapons in every shape and form. One end was ringed for sparring. The other had enough open space to stage a small war.
Cassian kicked off his boots at the edge of the mat. “You warm up, or am I starting you cold?”
“I’m not delicate,” Riven said.
Cassian grinned like he hoped that was true.
The first hit came too fast.
Riven barely ducked in time, and even then, Cassian’s palm skimmed the edge of his jaw. Riven struck back, but Cassian moved with a speed that made it pointless—twisting, ducking, rolling his shoulder out of the way like he’d already seen the blow coming a mile off.
Every move was clean, controlled and efficient. And somehow, every hit Cassian threw stopped just short of landing.
The sparring dragged on, a slow dismantling of Riven’s pride. Cassian never hit him full-on, but he didn’t have to. He circled, teasing at weak points, forcing Riven to defend rather than attack. Riven swung wide. Cassian caught his wrist, twisted, and dropped him to one knee without so much as breaking a sweat.
“Is this what passes for training in the Seam?” Cassian asked, not cruelly, but with a tilt of curiosity that made Riven’s blood boil.
“Fuck you,” Riven panted, driving back up with a punch that Cassian sidestepped like it was nothing.
They went again. And again. Every time, Riven was outmatched. And every time, Cassian pulled back at the last second, leaving just enough space for Riven to wonder what would happen if he didn’t.
By the end of it, Riven was soaked through, shirt clinging to him, chest heaving. His hair stuck to his temples, and sweat dripped down his spine.
Cassian stood across from him like he’d barely broken a sweat, arms crossed, golden eyes glinting.
“You’re fast,” he said. “But you burn too hot. You don’t think ahead. You move like a man who doesn’t care what happens to him.”
Riven straightened, unsteady. “Maybe I don’t.” It would explain why he’d offered himself up to this house of horrors.
Cassian nodded slowly, then tossed him the towel. “Then you’ll fit in just fine.”
Cassian turned away to grab a water bottle, his movements still lazy and precise, like he hadn’t just put Riven through a private hell. Riven followed slower, every step aching.
“How long’ve you been doing this?” Riven asked, toweling off the worst of the sweat.
Cassian didn’t look over. “Since before I knew what it meant to kill someone.”
Riven blinked. “So…a while, then.”
That earned a quiet laugh. “Depends who you ask.”
Riven leaned against the nearest wall, letting the cool stone soak into his overheated spine. “What about this place? TheVirellien compound. You and your brother, you live here full-time?”
Cassian finally glanced at him. “This is our home.”
