Riven climbed into the back seat beside Lareth. The interior was warm and smelled faintly of smoke, sweat, and some kindof synthetic cologne. The car pulled out with a soft growl, tires hissing over the asphalt.
He waited a few blocks before speaking again. “Where are we going?”
Lareth gave him a look, amused but unreadable. “You really want to know?”
“Might be useful if I’m supposed to pull my weight.”
“Fair enough,” Lareth said, though his tone remained elusive. “We’ve got a drop tonight. Big shipment, fresh batch. The good stuff. My crew’s been helping develop a cleaner cut of the glass. Potent, no sludge, no fallout. Took some doing, but it’s ready. Now we get it to the people who need to move it.”
“And my role?”
“Eyes. Ears. Backup. Just in case someone gets stupid. Cops. Rivals. You know.”
Riven nodded, keeping his face neutral. He could feel the case in his inner pocket—the syringe tucked inside it pressing against his ribs. Caerel would want to analyze the new product. If Riven could get his hands on some, even a sample, it might finally give House Virellien the proof they needed that this wasn’t just some freelance operation.
The city outside the window blurred by—neon signs shutting off, drunks stumbling along sidewalks, the tail-end-of-night culture giving way to the industrial hum of early workers. Riven’s pulse thudded dully behind his eyes. He was aware, sharply aware, of how alone he really was right now.
Thane had always made him feel like he was part of something bigger. Even when they fought. Even when Thane’s hands were around his throat, pushing him to the edge, he’d felt seen. Known.
Now, he was just another shadow in someone else’s crew. Another pair of eyes bought by desperation.
Riven looked out the window again, jaw tightening.
He wasn’t doing this for House Virellien.
Not really.
He was doing it for Thane.
Even if the bastard didn’t know it.
Chapter 41
The city started to peel away as they drove—bright lights giving over to duller ones, clusters of bars replaced by shuttered shops and fenced-in lots, the buildings lower and more spaced out the farther they went. Riven sat with his hands loose in his lap, his fingers twitching every so often as the silence inside the car stretched on.
The lack of conversation was starting to gnaw at him.
Lareth’s people didn’t speak. The driver and passenger had the kind of stillness that came from practiced muscle memory. Lareth himself leaned back like this was a routine pickup, like Riven was just another body added to a job that had already been decided.
It should’ve felt easy. Just another mission. But every mile deeper into the outskirts of Atlantis wound Riven’s nerves tighter.
He stared out the window, trying to mark familiar points on the horizon. Nothing. The buildings here weren’t ones he knew. The signs were tagged with unfamiliar gang sigils, and even the colors of street lighting had changed—blue halogens flickering, some blinking out entirely as they passed.
No House Virellien territory signs. No markings. No safety.
He shifted in his seat, then stilled when Lareth’s knee brushed his.
No one spoke. Not even a casual joke to break the tension. Thane would never have let this mission run like this.
And if not Thane, then the twins. At least they joked. At least Cassian would’ve filled the silence with something sharp and dirty, and Luca would’ve read the room for danger long before Riven even felt it.
Instead, he was in a borrowed role with people he didn’t know and couldn’t trust.
He flexed his fingers once before stilling them again.
Caerel’s team was supposed to be out there. Shadowing. Watching.
But the longer they drove, the harder it was to believe that anyone was still following. Riven hadn’t seen a sign of them since they left The Ember Gate. And the way Lareth talked suggested he wasn’t worried about being intercepted.
