The city swallowed them—alleys too narrow for light, bars that pulsed with thumping bass, storefronts open to the street with glass charms and herbal sedatives. Riven ignored it all. He just wanted to forget for one fucking night that he was collared.
He ducked into an alley behind an old convenience shop, climbed the rusted stairs to a rooftop he used to sleep on when things got bad. The concrete was cracked, covered in moss andgraffiti. A skyline stretched out in the distance, a sea of blinking towers and sin.
Cassian leaned against the doorframe. “You used to come here often.”
Riven didn’t look at him. “I used to be someone else.”
“You’re still you.”
Riven turned. “No. I’m Virellien’s. Same as you are.”
Cassian smiled softly, without humor. “Not the same.”
Riven stared at him, heart thudding. “What the hell does that mean?”
Cassian’s gaze flicked to the skyline. “Nothing,” he said. “Only that Thane doesn’t put collars on people he doesn’t want to keep.”
That silenced Riven more effectively than anything else.
And as the cold wind brushed over the rooftop, he realized something even more terrifying than being owned.
He didn’t want to leave.
He wanted Thane to come get him.
Chapter 19
The wind pulled at Riven’s coat as he sat on the crumbling edge of the rooftop. The night haze wrapped the city in that strange, sickly orange glow—the color of rusted dreams and broken promises. This rooftop used to be his, once. When he was running jobs for petty crews and sleeping under the stars, telling himself that freedom was worth the cold.
Now it felt like a museum exhibit behind glass.
Cassian stood a few feet away, arms folded, his eyes flicking between the skyline and Riven’s back. Luca was pacing behind them, quiet for once, his usual humor dimmed by the heaviness in the air.
“I need,” Riven said, voice tight, “a place to get fucked up.”
Cassian raised a brow. “You mean drunk?”
“I mean whatever you’ve got,” Riven muttered. “Booze. Noise. Strangers. I need to forget for a few hours. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before your leash tugs.”
“You’re not on a leash,” Luca said, though it sounded more like a warning than comfort.
Cassian, after a long moment, gave a small nod. “We know a place.”
They led him down the fire escape, through alleys that still reeked of piss and city grime, until the lights got uglier and the sidewalks more cracked. The bar was barely marked—justa flickering sign above a warped door that read “NO GODS ALLOWED.”
Riven smirked. “Charming.”
Inside, the place stank of sweat and whiskey. The lighting was dim, the music low-end techno vibrating the floors, and the crowd was the perfect blend of dangerous and desperate. Bodies packed the booths and bars, and the moment the three of them walked in, heads turned.
The bar was a hole in the wall—low ceilings, smoke-stained walls, and music that rattled the teeth in your skull. The booths were cracked leather patched with duct tape, and the tables were scarred with years of carved initials and spilled drinks.
The crowd here was rough—dockworkers, off-duty mercs, washed-up mages who smelled of sour spells and old regrets. No one wore colors. No one carried the gleam of House magic or privilege. It struck Riven, how free this place felt—no one here had marks burned into their skin, no invisible tether yanking them back to some ancient family’s boot. That thought made his fingers twitch unconsciously toward the small of his back. He could almost feel the Virellien mark pulsing, reminding him he didn’t belong here anymore.
Cassian and Luca probably always drew attention, and certainly did tonight. One man leaned in toward Luca immediately, murmuring something with a lewd grin. Luca just laughed, drank what was handed to him, and disappeared into the crush of bodies already dancing.
Cassian stuck close to Riven. “Don’t wander far.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” Riven snapped, ordering a drink from the bartender—something blue and burning.
