He focused on the motion of the truck beneath him, trying to map the route in his mind. Right turn. Left. A long straightaway. Then another turn—maybe a roundabout? He couldn’t be sure. The freight bed was too well-insulated, muffling the outside world to little more than engine noise and road vibrations. And without any windows, even his sense of direction was starting to slip. Industrial zone? Outskirts?
No. Don’t go there.
Riven dragged in a breath and let it out slowly through his nose.
He refused to think about the possibility that they were taking him out of Atlantis altogether. That once this truck crossed some unseen threshold, he’d be gone for good. He couldn’t afford to spiral. Couldn’t afford the kind of fear that made you freeze instead of fight.
He replayed what Lareth had said to him before closing him in with Kieran’s gun.“You’ll make a better bargaining chip than anything else we’ve got.”
That had to mean they weren’t just killing him. Not yet. They needed him alive, nearby. Somewhere still in the city. Close enough to push against House Virellien, to test their response.
So use that. Use it.
He shifted his weight again and braced one hand against the wall for balance. The metal was cold against his skin, grounding. He pressed his palm flat to it, exhaling through clenched teeth.
This could still work.
Whatever Lareth was tied up in—this new, purified Soulglass, this supposed “organization”—Riven had to believe it wasn’t just some one-off operation. They were testing something. Scaling up. Planning for more. That meant infrastructure. Contacts. Weak spots.
All of it mattered. And if he played his part right, he could learn something worth bringing back.
If he got out.
Whenhe got out.
Chapter 44
The truck finally groaned to a stop.
Riven tensed, every muscle coiled tight, crouched in the dark like a spring. The stench of fuel and steel filled the space, thick enough to choke on. He didn’t know how much time had passed—long enough for his thoughts to go numb and then sharp again, for the adrenaline to simmer under his skin until it felt like it might tear him apart.
This was it. His one shot. No rescue. No backup. Just him.
He adjusted his grip on the case tucked under his jacket, not because he planned to use the Soulglass inside—it was too risky—but because the weight of it grounded him. Reminded him why he was here, what he needed to bring back to make this worth anything. He repeated it like a mantra in his head:Get out. Get something. Bring it to Thane.
The latch outside clanked. Boots crunched gravel. Muffled voices.
Light slashed through the darkness as the cargo door was yanked up.
Riven moved.
He burst forward like a weapon unsheathed, slamming into the first man in his path with enough force to drive him backwards off the truck bed. They hit the ground in a tangle oflimbs. The man let out a startled grunt, and Riven rolled off him fast, rising into a crouch with his fists up.
He barely had time to register the second man rushing at him before he struck. Riven ducked the first punch, slammed a knee into the guy’s stomach, then drove his head back against the steel siding with a satisfying crack. The man slumped.
Another attacker lunged in. Riven twisted, caught his arm, and used his own momentum to throw him sideways—into a fourth man who’d just stepped up with a gun drawn.
Chaos exploded around him—shouting, cursing, the scuff of boots and the thud of fists. One of them clipped his jaw hard enough to send his vision reeling, but he caught his balance, drove an elbow into someone’s neck, and kept going. It wasn’t clean, but it was fast and brutal. He didn’t have a choice.
But there were too many.
A fist slammed into his ribs. Another caught his shoulder and shoved him sideways. He stumbled, then pitched forward under the weight of two bodies. They dragged him down, pinning him. Someone wrenched his arm behind his back. The cold press of a gun barrel found his temple. And then came the crack of a shot, splitting the night.
Everyone stilled.
Riven looked up. Kieran stood a few paces away, arm outstretched, smoke curling from the barrel of the pistol he’d just fired into the air. He looked calm, utterly composed, his face as blank as fresh snow.
“I don’t care if you’re breathing when we hand you over,” Kieran said, voice light, almost bored. “My orders were to deliver you. Dead or alive makes no difference to me.”
