Riven didn’t stumble—he had too much pride for that—but his footsteps weren’t as precise as they usually were. The booze warmed him from the inside, just enough to unwind the ever-tightening coil in his chest. He didn’t want to be sober tonight. He didn’t want to feel.
“We’re not that far,” Luca said softly, hands in his pockets, ever alert. “Couple more blocks.”
“Could be further,” Riven grumbled.
Cassian glanced over at him, but didn’t answer.
Then something thudded hard into the pavement ahead of them, sizzling with raw magic.
Cassian didn’t hesitate—he shoved Riven sideways, slamming them all into the cover of a parked car just as a second blast hit the concrete where they’d stood. The shockwave from the spell rippled across the sidewalk in a shimmer of heat and crackling static.
“Shit—” Luca hissed.
A third shot lanced past them, grazing the side mirror of the car and sending it flying into the street with a metallicclang.
Riven’s stomach turned. He blinked, trying to shake off the alcohol’s grip as his pulse thundered in his ears. “What the fuck—?”
“Sniper mage,” Cassian said through gritted teeth, drawing a sleek pistol from under his coat that Riven hadn’t even known he had. “High ground. Far. They’re trying to kill us.”
“No shit,” Riven snapped.
A fourth spell hit the curb just behind them, detonating into a burst of kinetic force that shattered the car’s rear window and sent glass raining down around them. Riven ducked instinctively, heart hammering in his throat. Adrenaline soured the taste of whiskey still in his mouth.
He heard a groan, low and involuntary.
“Luca—?”
“I’m fine,” Luca growled, but his face twisted as he pressed a hand to his lower back. His fingers came away red and smoking faintly. “Got clipped. No through shot.”
Cassian cursed under his breath and scanned the rooftops, eyes sharp. “We need to see him.”
“I got this,” Riven assured him, dragging in a breath. He was already trying to draw on his Sight, the magic behind his eyes aching like something feral scratching to get out. But his head spun. His magic was sluggish, tangled in the best of circumstances, good for nothing but seeing magic in the air. The alcohol blurred the edges of everything, pulling static through his thoughts and interfering with his magic.
He pressed a hand to the ground, trying to steady himself. Magic flared at the edge of his vision—then flickered out again like a dying lightbulb.
Another spell screamed past them. The car rocked with the impact.
“Riven,” Cassian barked. “Focus.”
“I’m trying—!”
The Sight finally clicked on, but everything bloomed too bright, too fast. He clenched his jaw against the sudden wave of nausea as reality distorted, the city pulsing with lines of glowing energy. Shadows throbbed with heat signatures. Every magical heartbeat, every electric current sliced through his field of vision.
He forced himself to isolate the distant rooftop lines. Most were cold.
Another blast tore into the car beside them, peeling back metal like paper.
Riven’s hands were trembling, but he narrowed his focus, filtering out the frequencies, searching for the one that felt off—the signature of active spellcasting, of hostile intent.
Then—there. A flicker. On a rooftop three buildings over, partially obscured by the air vent and the glow of a dying neon sign. A figure, hooded. Gloved hands gesturing through the air.
Riven opened his mouth, about to call it out—
But the sniper was already moving, hands shifting as another spell gathered in his palms.
“Cassian—high roof, third building, neon sign!”
Cassian didn’t ask for clarification. He rose just enough to steady his shot, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger.
