Outside, the night would be waiting. So would whatever work Lareth had in store.
He didn’t know if he was walking into a trap or the break they needed.
But he walked anyway.
Straight into the smoke and light.
Straight into the fire.
Chapter 40
By 3:00 a.m., The Ember Gate had exhaled the last of its crowd. The music was dead, the lights dimmed, and the club’s heartbeat had slowed to something quieter, meaner.
Riven lingered near the back exit, the one Lareth had pointed out. The alley beyond was a narrow wound carved between buildings, slick with oil and shadow, lit only by the occasional flicker of a dying security sconce. He kept to the edge of the doorway, close enough to look like someone waiting for a ride, far enough to avoid the cameras.
He’d checked in with Caerel twice over the course of the night—low mutters into his mic, vague confirmations that everything was fine. Caerel didn’t push for detail. Either he trusted Riven to handle it or didn’t care if he got eaten alive.
He hadn’t spotted any of Virellien’s people. No glint of a comm, no familiar posture, no trained eyes sweeping the exits. That meant they were doing their jobs. House Virellien didn’t make its presence known unless it wanted to. Their rep for strategy and stealth wasn’t just propaganda, it was practice. Still, it was unsettling to feel truly alone. No way to know who had his back, if anyone.
A few patrons had staggered out past him throughout the hour—drunk, high, stumbling and laughing with the kind ofcareless ease that always made his teeth clench. One guy tripped on the threshold and thrown up on his own shoes before staggering off into the dark.
A couple staff had left too, more quietly. A bouncer with a bruised knuckle and blood on his cuff. A server slipping earbuds in before lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand. None of them looked twice at Riven. That was good. He needed to be invisible.
Every so often, he crouched to adjust the laces on his boots, a casual movement masking a check of the case hidden beneath his jacket. The thin black container was still there, snug against his ribs, housing the syringe and the clear, glittering liquid inside.
This whole plan was too thin. Too hopeful. Get in, get recruited, get access to whatever pipeline Soulglass was traveling through. Out the other side with answers Thane could use.
Thane.
The name slid into his mind uninvited, familiar as breath.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritated by how fast the thought of him had crept in.
Not now.
Riven shifted his weight and scanned the alley again, still quiet and empty. The neon sign above the door buzzed like a fly in a bottle. A trickle of water ran down the opposite wall, glinting red under the light.
He resisted the urge to pace. Instead, he leaned back against the club’s exterior wall and let his head tip to the side, eyes half-lidded in an approximation of boredom. He could wait. He’d been waiting his whole life—for a break, for a way out, for someone to give a shit.
This time, he wasn’t waiting for any of that.
This time, he was doing the work.
Lareth and four others finally stepped through the rear exit, their silhouettes framed in the harsh white floodlight above the door. The group moved with purpose, their conversation low and clipped, and Lareth was unmistakably the one at the center of it all. Riven straightened as they spotted him.
“Well, shit,” Lareth said with a grin, walking up with the easy swagger of someone who owned the night. “Didn’t think you’d actually show. Figured you might chicken out.”
Riven lifted a shoulder. “When you need the money, you need the money.”
That made Lareth laugh, short and sharp, seemingly pleased with the answer. “Come on, then.”
They made their way across the mostly empty lot. Most of the club’s clientele had long since gone, leaving only scattered trash, puddles from the broken gutter system, and the odd car parked under dying halogen bulbs. One of the vehicles—a nondescript dark sedan, plates dirty enough to avoid any obvious origin—sat idling in the corner of the lot. Riven tried not to be obvious as he scanned the area for any sign of Caerel’s team. He found none, just shadows and wind and the low hum of the city settling into early morning.
It made him uneasy. The lack of presence meant the team was good—Virellien was known for that. Still, he hated the feeling of being alone. He wasn’t, not really, but the absence of a voice in his ear, the lack of Thane’s cool, clipped directions, made everything feel exposed.
Lareth gestured toward the car. “Back seat. With me.”
Two of his people moved ahead, getting in the front. The other two lingered outside, scanning the lot with deliberate casualness. One lit a cigarette, the end flaring bright against the dark.
