A motel.
Riven and Thane crouched beside a dumpster overflowing with half-burned charms and refuse. The air stank of mildew and cheap wards. Riven wiped sweat from his brow, watching through the chain-link as Kieran pulled his hood lower and shoved open the dented motel door.
“Cheap place,” Thane muttered. “Fitting.”
Riven nodded once, lips pressed tight.
They waited, eyes on the numbered doors. Kieran moved down the hall visible through the lobby window—then stopped. Room 12. He knocked once. The door opened and someone pulled him inside.
Riven’s heart thudded, but he stayed still, focused. “He’s not alone.”
Thane’s expression darkened. “So the rat has friends.”
Riven’s mouth twisted. “Or contacts.”
They stayed crouched in silence a moment longer. The city noise flowed around them—distant traffic, laughter, a baby crying in some apartment above, the mundane chaos of Irontide.
Then Thane looked over at him, voice too low for anyone but him to hear. “Nice work.”
Riven blinked. “What?”
“Tracking him. You didn’t miss a beat.”
A flicker of pleasure passed through him, stupid and unexpected. He pushed it down; he would not fawn at a compliment lazily given, especially when it could cut more like an insult.
“I know how to follow a trail,” Riven said pointedly. “That’s why you brought me.”
Thane didn’t deny it.
They returned their focus to the motel, where Room 12 now sat quiet, unremarkable from the outside.
But Riven’s skin prickled with anticipation. This was it, their first real lead. Something was about to break.
“We wait too long, he’ll vanish,” Thane murmured, scanning the narrow strip of units. “These kinds of rats always know the bolt-holes better than we do.”
Riven didn’t respond at first. His focus was locked on the room—door closed, curtains drawn. The tension in his gut hadn’t gone away. He couldfeelsomething. Not fear. Not nerves.Wrongness.
“He’s not alone,” Riven said. “You want him alive, right? You go in loud now, you risk spooking anyone else inside—or getting your squad torn up by something waiting for us.”
Thane considered that, his jaw tightening. “If he slips the net, it’s worse. He knows something. Maybe not much, but enough that he’s been in touch with people moving Soulglass. Enough that he might know whether the Hollow Hand’s really gone or just hiding. I need that information more than I need another clean op.”
He signaled the strike team. “We go in. Riven, flank left. Keep eyes sharp.”
The four soldiers in matte black armor moved into position—efficient, silent, their rifles already drawn. Riven slipped aroundthe corner of the building opposite, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline. From that sense again. His gut had saved his life more times than he could count, and he never ignored it.
He swept his gaze across the adjacent units. Boarded windows, burnt-out lightbulbs. The whole building stank of rot and abandonment, and yet…
There. A sound.
A low groan—barely audible through the thin motel walls. He paused, his head cocked, straining to hear it again.
Groaning. Then a soft, rhythmic thud. Not exactly footsteps. More like…breathing? Heavy, dragging,wrong.
He opened his mouth to warn them, but it was too late.
The lead soldier had already moved on the door, slipping a ward-disruptor talisman from his belt. A crackle of blue shimmered around the doorframe—wards, old ones, but active. That alone should have been a sign. Kieran didn’t have the magic for that.
“Wait,” Riven said, louder now, moving back toward them. “Something’s—”
