“I think I remember these,” he said slowly. “Going down. I was out of it. I almost fell.”
Thane’s eyes sharpened. “But someone helped you.”
“Yeah,” Riven murmured. “The Virellien agent. Kept me upright. Said something about how I’d be safer in the cellar.”
Thane’s jaw tightened. “Of course they would.”
They descended together. The temperature dropped with every step, the air growing colder, heavier. And then the mural came into view.
The unicorn.
Faded, but unmistakable. Proud. Wild-eyed. Its horn cracked just above the base. Riven stared, the haze in his memory lifting as the image came into focus with a clarity that made his stomach twist. He’d seen it before, but now it felt real.
Thane stopped at the doorway, and something shifted in his face. His breath caught. His fingers trembled as he reached out to brush the unicorn’s flank. No sound left him, but the grief came off him in waves.
Riven didn’t think. He just moved.
He stepped in close, sliding his arms gently around Thane’s waist. His body pressed lightly against the elf’s back.
He braced himself for the recoil, the sharp word, the inevitable reminder of boundaries.
But Thane stilled.
And then, impossibly, let him stay.
Riven’s hands flattened over Thane’s abdomen, and he felt the other man breathe. Silence stretched between them, charged and fragile. Then Thane stepped away, breaking the contact, but not the moment. They stood in the stillness for a while. The quiet here wasn’t just eerie—it was unnatural. And the longer Riven looked, the more wrong it felt.
The dust.
It hadn’t been disturbed.
Not even slightly. No footprints. No scuffs. Nothing. The kind of undisturbed that meant it had been untouched for years. Hebegan to move more deliberately, unease tightening in his gut. He crossed to the bed and stared down.
The blankets were stiff with time. The same faded ones he remembered lying on. He grabbed the edge and yanked them back, bracing for bloodstains. Something.
Nothing.
The sheets were pale and yellowed with age—but pristine. There were no stains, no impressions. As though no one had touched them in a decade.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “This was the room. I was here.”
Thane came to stand beside him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “I believe you.”
Riven turned, startled. “You do?”
Thane gave a single nod. “You described the mural. The crack in the horn. That’s not something you invent.”
“Then what the fuck is happening?” Riven’s voice trembled. Anger and fear coiled in his chest like smoke. “Why does it look like no one’s been in here in decades?”
“They’re playing games,” Thane said grimly. “The Hollow Hand excels at that.”
Riven’s stomach turned. “Games,” he echoed.
“Mind games,” Thane said. “Designed to unsteady us both. You were taken to this room. You remember it clearly. That mural isn’t public knowledge. So they used this place on purpose. And now, they’ve scrubbed it, like you were never here.”
“But why?” Riven whispered. “Just to fuck with you?”
“That’s part of it. But that’s not the endgame.” Thane turned fully to face him, eyes dark as obsidian. “The Hollow Hand doesn’t just agitate. They annihilate. They want to tear me apart from the inside. And when they’re done, they’ll raze House Virellien to the ground.”
