Riven dragged a hand down his face.
Ten minutes, Maris had said.
He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, then paused before reaching for the clean one. The sight of his bare torso caught his eye in the mirror—bruises bloomed low on his hips, some older marks fading yellow-green, others newer and darker. A fresh one near his collarbone throbbed faintly.
He turned his gaze away.
The jacket waited, silent and unrelenting, just like everything else in this place.
As he dressed, his fingers slowed at the cuffs. His hands clenched once at his sides before smoothing the fabric down. He looked at himself in the mirror again—too polished, too tamed. Like a doll someone had dressed up for display.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t his world—not the estates or the strategizing or the sex that bled into violence.
He reached up to touch his neck, fingers brushing over the skin just below the line of the collar.
You’re here as long as you have the brand, he reminded himself.As long as her debt exists, they own you. Do what you came to do. Get them the answers, follow the trail, and when they remove it—you walk.
You disappear.
And you never have to hear the name House Virellien again.
He pulled the jacket on, buttoned it up slowly. By the time he was done, the mask was back in place—expression neutral, stance squared.
A knock came at the door. Maris again.
“Time’s up,” she said through the wood.
Riven inhaled once, sharp and bracing, then stepped toward the door like a man walking into battle.
Chapter 28
The car pulled to a stop, and for a moment, Riven thought there must have been some mistake.
The glowing pink sign above the entrance readPleasure Vaultin swooping neon script, pulsing like a heartbeat. Below it, in smaller letters, a second sign declared:Where every man’s worth is measured in glitter and grind.Two shirtless men in tight leather pants flanked the door, both built like they’d been carved out of marble and sprayed with body oil. One gave a lazy wink as Thane stepped out of the car like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” Riven muttered, staring at the sign.
Thane didn’t answer. He just slammed the car door and started toward the entrance.
Riven followed, reluctantly, his eyes darting around. The air outside was thick with bass from the club’s speakers and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely floral. Inside, it was worse. The club exploded with sound and light, a kaleidoscope of strobing purples and blues. The stage was the focal point, raised and rimmed in LED lights, where a naked elf with glowing tattoos spiraled down a chrome pole with hypnotic ease.
The music was pure synth-pop filth, the kind that vibrated in your chest, and the crowd—mostly elves in expensive suits or sheer tops—cheered like it was a bloodsport. The dancer hit the floor in a controlled split, gyrating his hips while making aggressive eye contact with someone at the front of the stage.
Riven gawked. “This is neutral ground?”
Thane, already several steps ahead, barely glanced back. “Lord Sorrell likes the dramatic.”
A server in a rhinestone harness and nothing else directed them toward a velvet-roped stairwell at the side of the room. They climbed the narrow stairs, the thrum of the bass fading slightly, and emerged into a glass-walled VIP booth perched above the main floor. Privacy spells shimmered along the edges, filtering sound and dulling the garish colors of the club below.
Inside, Sorrell of House Glint lounged on a curved black leather settee, a drink in hand. His hair was the rich, vicious red of freshly spilled blood, tied back in a messy ribbon that matched the trim of his tailored suit—half velvet, half something that shimmered like oil. A single diamond hung from one pointed ear. He didn’t rise.
“Knife of Virellien,” he purred. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your taste for spectacle.”
Only one man stood beside him—a bodyguard, silent and watchful, dressed in black with a Glint insignia at his collarbone. Clearly a mage, though which kind was impossible to say.
Thane said nothing at first, but Riven noticed the stiffness in his spine, the subtle tension behind his eyes.
Riven stayed quiet, remembering the warning from earlier.
