“You’re not wrong about Thane,” Caerel finally said. “He’s not thinking clearly when it comes to the Hollow Hand. The past blinds him. If someone inside is opening doors to the enemy, we can’t afford to wait.”
Riven exhaled, barely allowing himself to hope.
“I’ll authorize the mission myself,” Caerel said. “If we can pull the prep together, you go in tonight.”
For a moment, Riven just stared. “Seriously?”
“I don’t play games when it comes to protecting this House,” Caerel said. “Even when that means going against Thane’s wishes. If your instincts are right, this may be the only real lead we get.”
Relief bloomed fast in Riven’s chest. “Thank you.”
Caerel waved it off. “Don’t thank me yet. If this goes wrong, it’ll be my ass on the line—and yours, too. Go wait in your quarters. I’ll send someone when it’s time.”
Riven nodded and stood, a nervous energy prickling beneath his skin. As he left the solarium and made his way back toward his room, the estate’s halls seemed more claustrophobic than ever. He was doing this for the right reasons. He knew that. But he couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of dread—about the mission, about defying Thane, about what he might discover when he returned to the Seam.
Riven returned to his room with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion coiling in his muscles. The moment the door shut behind him, the quiet settled over him like a thick blanket, too heavy to feel comforting. The morning light filtering through thewindows was warm and golden, softening the estate’s sharper edges, but it did nothing to settle the churn in his stomach.
He paced for a few minutes, trying to decide if he should pack, if he should prepare in some other way. This kind of waiting would drive him mad. He needed something to occupy his mind, something mindless and detached. After a few moments of indecision, he flicked on the television mounted on the wall and surfed aimlessly until he landed on a trashy dating show. It was everything he needed—stupid, shallow, brightly lit and aggressively heterosexual.
Two contestants were screaming at each other over who had lied about kissing someone else’s partner, and a man in a sparkly blazer was pretending like any of it mattered. Riven slumped onto the couch and let the noise wash over him. He didn’t absorb much of it. His thoughts still drifted—to the Seam, to the woman in the shadows, to the expression on Caerel’s face when he agreed. More than anything, they drifted back to Thane, and the cold fury in his voice when he shut him down.
He made it maybe half an hour into the episode—just long enough for someone to get dumped on national television—when the knock came.
No. Not a knock.
A violent, thunderous pounding that shook the frame of the door, like someone intended to tear it from the hinges. It wasn’t frantic. It was purposeful and angry.
Riven didn’t even need to get up to know who it was. The cold bubble of dread that formed in his stomach gave it away before his brain caught up. He rose slowly, blood thudding in his ears, the forgotten remote sliding off his lap and hitting the floor with a soft thump.
He crossed the room and placed a hand on the door handle. Just a breath. Just a pause. As if he could put this off a few more seconds.
Then he opened the door.
Thane stood on the other side, tall and immovable, his jaw locked tight, his silver eyes blazing with uncontained fury. His presence filled the hallway like smoke from a fire—choking, inescapable. Every line of his face was sharp with rage. Every inch of him thrummed with dangerous energy. The Beast, people called him. Knife of House Virellien. Riven’s mouth went dry as they stared at each other, breath caught in his throat.
He’d been found out.
And there would be a price.
Chapter 36
Riven took a step back instinctively, but forced himself not to flinch. He didn’t slam the door shut, didn’t retreat into the safety of his room—though every nerve in his body screamed at him to. Thane’s fury filled the air between them like static, bristling and volatile, and Riven knew if he didn’t say something fast, it would ignite.
He opened his mouth.
“Thane—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Thane growled, the kind of voice that didn’t rise in volume because it didn’t need to. “Not a word. Not until I say.”
Riven’s breath caught in his throat, a flash of heat rushing to his face—not just from fear, but from defiance. Still, Thane stepped forward into the room uninvited, his presence demanding, filling the space the same way his anger did. Riven took another involuntary step back.
The door slammed shut behind Thane with a flick of his hand. “Where,” he said slowly, “did you get the fucking balls to go over my head?”
“I—”
“It was rhetorical.” Thane’s gaze burned through him, silver eyes full of something colder than anger—something like hurt. “Don’t speak.”
Riven clenched his jaw. His chest rose and fell, tight with tension, but his resolve hardened. He hadn’t made this choice lightly. Thane could be pissed all he wanted—Riven knew he was right.
