You’re not mine to protect,Thane had said, back at the door, voice rough from more than just rage.
And yet, he had protected him. Again and again. And now he wasn’t here.
Riven crossed the dance floor without stopping, threading between pulsing bodies and clouded eyes. He ignored the hands that reached, the way some of the patrons gave him long, assessing looks. He’d made the mistake of coming in half-drunk once already. That wasn’t happening again. He had a job to do.
He reached the back of the club and found Lareth in the same damn seat, like he’d never left it.
Flanked by two men with thick necks and dead eyes, Lareth lounged like he owned the place—one leg hooked over the other, a drink sweating in his ringed hand, crimson curls tied back in a loose knot that exposed the long line of his throat. He looked like blood and silk and rot. And he smiled when he saw Riven, sharp and knowing.
“Well, well,” he drawled, tilting his glass in greeting. “Lucky me.”
“I’m not here to buy,” Riven said, stepping into the shadow of the booth.
Lareth blinked. “No? And here I thought your appetite might’ve finally outrun your fear.”
“I’m in debt. Fast kind. Bad kind.” Riven pitched his voice low, let the edge of panic scrape just beneath the surface. “I need work. Whatever pays best.”
Lareth’s interest sharpened. He set his drink aside, laced his fingers together, and leaned in with predatory amusement. “That’s always how it starts.”
Riven didn’t flinch. He stared him down, jaw tight, posture wound like a spring. He’d learned a long time ago that desperation read better with pride still intact—it made you useful but not pathetic. It was how his sister had survived as long as she had.
After a moment, Lareth leaned back and hummed. “Maybe I do have something. But it’s dangerous.”
“I said I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Lareth’s grin widened. “Careful. That kind of talk has a way of catching fire.” He sipped his drink again, watching Riven over the rim. “Be at the rear entrance after close. You’ll get your chance to prove yourself. And try not to die before then.”
Riven nodded once, then turned away before Lareth could say more.
He drifted into the crowd again, the pulse of the music seeming sharper now, like it was crawling under his skin. He didn’t bother trying to enjoy himself like Lareth had suggested. What would be the point? He wasn’t here for pleasure. He was here for answers—for Thane.
That was the part he hadn’t said. The reason he hadn’t just told Caerel to fuck off when Thane wasn’t leading the op. Because even if he didn’t like admitting it, even to himself, he was doing this for Thane. Not the Matriarch. Not for status. Not for freedom.
For Thane.
To make sense of the people trying to kill them. To unearth who was pulling the strings. To find the rot crawling between the Hollow Hand and House Glint and dig it the fuck out.
He found a shadowy alcove near the back, where the club lights flickered and bled into violet fog. From here, he could see the whole floor, the glittering faces, the seething crush of bodies pretending they weren’t already halfway dead inside. He leanedback against the wall, letting it take his weight, and tilted his head up toward the ceiling.
He hated how badly he wanted to hear Thane’s voice. Hated that he kept imagining it.
Do you even think about consequences before you dive in, or do you just live for the bruises?
What did you think you’d prove?
You’re mine to keep alive, not clean up after.
That one always lingered.
He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The ache in his lower back, the sting where his skin still burned with the memory of Thane’s hands, didn’t help. That night had burrowed beneath his skin, more intimate and violent than he’d meant it to be. It had carved something open, and now there was no way to stitch it closed.
This mission was stupid. He knew that. Caerel’s plan had more risk than logic, and Lareth clearly wasn’t a fucking idiot. But Riven had to try. He had to get something out of this. Something he could bring back to Thane and throw on the table like a gauntlet—Look, I did it. I got in. I bled for it. Now what?
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to impress him or shame him. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Maybe he just didn’t want to feel powerless anymore.
Riven pushed off the wall and began making his way toward the far side of the club, toward the private hallway that led to the exit Lareth had mentioned. The crowd thinned slightly as he passed through, the noise settling to a dull throb in his chest.
