“I’m the target,” Riven continued, his voice flat. “Varessia wants my head. If I go to the roof with Selene, I bring the entire elite guard down on her before she even reaches the objective.”
He traced the line of the lobby on the map.
“Korenth will be deep in the sub-basement, prepping the vessels for the alignment. He won't abandon the experiment—not after what happened the first time he tried to open the Rift. That leaves Varessia commanding the security grid.”
He tapped the main entrance.
“I have to be visible. I have to be loud. Her pride won't let her ignore my betrayal. If she believes I am leading a desperate frontal assault to kill her, she will come down to execute me herself. She'll pull the heavy security to the ground floor, leaving the roof exposed.”
“We make her look down,” Goran rumbled, understanding the tactic. “We draw the wolves away from the flock.”
“Precisely,” Riven said. “But first, we cross the threshold. We must assume my signature has been purged from the system. Theperimeter wards will identify me as a hostile target. Any approach likely triggers the alarm.”
“We handled that,” Torvin interrupted, tossing a small, rune-etched disc onto the map. It landed on the lobby entrance with a solid clink. “Static-Dampeners. We’ve been tuning them to the tower’s frequency for days. We stick one on the drain grate and one on the service door. It won’t break the ward, but it will bore a hole in it just big enough for us to slip through unnoticed.”
“It buys us five minutes,” Karys added. “After that, the system recalibrates and realises there are intruders. That’s when you get loud.”
Riven nodded. “Five minutes is enough. While we hold the line and draw their fire, Team Hammer moves up.”
He looked at me, then at the twins.
“Selene, Torvin, Karys. You take the secondary lift shaft. The twins handle the physical security—locks, guards, cameras. Selene saves her strength.”
He fixed me with a hard stare.
“You do not engage, Selene. You do not fight until you are on that roof. You are the payload. You save every ounce of that Light for the device. If you burn out fighting a patrol on your way up, we lose.”
“I know,” I said, though the thought of going up without him—without the anchor—made my stomach turn. “I’m the bomb. They’re the delivery system.”
“And if Varessia doesn’t come down?” Dane asked, his voice tight. “If she stays on the roof with the machine?”
“She will come,” Riven said darkly. “I removed myself from her reach. I humiliated her. She won’t be able to resist the chance to finish me personally.”
I looked at him. He was making himself the bait. He was going to stand in the lobby with Dane and Goran and let the full weight of Highspire crash down on them, just to buy me a clear path.
“We leave at 0400,” Riven said, straightening up. “We hit them at shift change. Check your gear. It’s the last chance you’ll get.”
The Armoury was a small,cold room off the main atrium, smelling of whetstones and old oil. It felt less like a military supply room and more like a museum of violence.
Goran stood by the sturdy oak racks, laying out equipment with the solemnity of a priest preparing an altar.
There were no guns in the plan. For Dane and Goran, guns became useless dead weight the moment they shifted; a wolf relied on teeth, not triggers. Riven viewed ballistics as a crude inefficiency compared to the precision of Shadow. And frankly, against the magical wards waiting for us, bullets felt insignificant. We relied on steel and the storm in our blood.
Goran handed Dane a heavy, telescoping baton made of matte-black steel.
“Weighted core,” Goran rumbled. “It will break a femur with a light swing. Don’t aim for the head unless you mean to end it.”
Dane weighed the baton in his hand, testing the balance. He gave it a sharp flick, expanding it with a snick-clack sound.
“Understood,” Dane said. He collapsed it and slid it into his belt loop.
He looked at me, his eyes tired. The grey tinge of the hospital was gone, but the lines around his eyes were deep.
“I hate this,” he said quietly.
I stopped checking the straps of my boots and straightened up. “The baton? I thought hitting things was your love language.”
“I hate that you are going up there without me.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the weapon rack.
