Riven blinked. “What?”
“I said no,” Thane repeated, voice low and firm. “You are not going back to the Seam.”
“Why not?” Riven demanded, stepping forward. “You brought me here for this exact reason. To get into places your people can’t. I’m telling you I can do that.”
“You think this is about capability?” Thane snapped, stepping closer, voice taut with restrained fury. “You think I’m doubting your usefulness?”
Riven opened his mouth, but Thane cut him off with a look so sharp it halted the words in his throat.
“I’m telling you no,” Thane said, every syllable deliberate, laced with a warning. “Not because you can’t, but because you don’t fucking understand what you’re dealing with. You walk back into that part of the city without layers of protection, without backup, and you don’t come out again. You don’t know these people, and they sure as hell don’t care about the brand on your back.”
Riven clenched his fists. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not going to have this conversation again,” Thane growled. “You’re not going. End of discussion.”
Then he turned, his long frame sweeping down the corridor, leaving Riven standing in the quiet hall, vibrating with frustration and the distinct, bitter taste of powerlessness.
Chapter 35
Morning came, but Riven didn’t feel any closer to peace. He hadn’t slept, not really—he’d just laid there staring at the ceiling, replaying the confrontation with Thane again and again. The cold finality of the man’s rejection still echoed in his head. Not just the words, but the tone—commanding, brutal, dismissive. Like the case was closed.
But it wasn’t.
The more Riven turned it over in his mind, the more certain he became that his plan was the right course of action. This wasn’t about bruised egos or defiance. It was about survival—figuring out what was festering beneath the surface of House Virellien before it broke through and swallowed them all. Thane might have the legacy, the title, and the power, but he wasn’t infallible. He was too close, too personally tied to the Hollow Hand and everything they’d taken from him. That closeness was clouding his judgment.
So Riven did something reckless. Stupid, even.
He went looking for Caerel.
It took some time to find the spymaster. Virellien’s estate was enormous and always in motion—staff flitting through halls, armed guards posted at every junction, and a constant low hum of purpose. But eventually Riven found Caerel in a small glass-walled solarium overlooking the inner courtyard, seated ata sleek black table and reviewing something on a holographic screen.
The older elf looked up as Riven entered. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping off whatever misadventure you and Lord Virellien had last night?”
“I need a few minutes,” Riven said. “It’s important.”
Caerel gestured to the seat across from him. “Go on.”
Riven laid it out carefully—what he’d seen on the estate wall, the figures slipping in and out of the shadows, how he’d followed one and recognized the woman from the Seam. The one connected to Soulglass. The implication was clear—someone had brought her onto the property. Someone inside House Virellien, a traitor or a spy.
Caerel’s expression darkened, his mouth drawn tight.
“I think I should go back into the Seam,” Riven said. “Try to find her, reconnect. Figure out what she’s doing here, who she’s working with. It’s the best shot we have at cracking this open.”
Caerel sat back in his chair. “Have you spoken to Thane about this?”
“I have,” Riven admitted. “He said no. He didn’t even listen, not really. Just shut it down.”
Caerel’s lips thinned into something colder than a frown. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“I think it’s personal,” Riven said. “He’s too close to this. The Hollow Hand…it’s tied up in his past. I think rejecting the plan is easier than facing the possibility that someone inside this House is working with the people who killed his father.”
Silence settled between them for a long, thoughtful beat.
Caerel looked out the glass wall, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “If what you’re saying is true, it means I’ve failed,” he said quietly. “I’ve gotten too comfortable. Trusted too many faces. That can’t happen again.”
“You haven’t failed,” Riven said. “But we might if we ignore this.”
Caerel looked back at him, sharp blue eyes cutting into his. Whatever thoughts were running through the man’s head didn’t show on his face, but a calculation was happening behind those eyes, and then a shift.
