He looked up. We were inches apart.
I could see the flecks of silver dormant in his blue eyes. I could smell the rain and cedar scent of him.
“You keep saying ‘if’,” I whispered. “If the magic fails. If I get to the roof.”
“I am a strategist,” Riven murmured. “I plan for the catastrophe. That way, survival is not an accident; it is a calculation.”
“We’re going to win, Riven.”
He rested his hand on my waist, just for a second—a grounding weight.
“We leave the Cistern at 0400,” he said, his voice rough. “Get some rest, Selene. Real rest. Don’t spend the night staring at the ceiling.”
“And you?”
“I have things to finish.” He pulled his hand away, the loss of contact a physical chill. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turned and walked out of the armoury, moving with that silent, predatory grace that still made my heart hammer—not out of fear anymore, but out of something much more dangerous.
I touched the hilt of the Vaelor iron. The metal seeped into my palm, a contrast to the phantom warmth of his hand on my waist. I slid the dagger into my belt and turned towards the door.
He had spent a long time convinced that he was a monster who belonged in the shadows. Tonight, I would prove him wrong.
THIRTY-FOUR
Riven
I gripped the edges of the sink, staring into the cracked mirror of the washroom.
The face staring back was older than a week ago. The lines around the eyes were etched deeper; the mouth was set in grim resolve.
Tomorrow, I was going back to Highspire. Back to the cage I had spent decades surviving.
I dried my hands on a rough towel. My belt felt lighter without the weight of the Vaelor dagger. I had given it to Selene because it was the only piece of protection I had left to give.
If I did my job right tomorrow, she wouldn’t need it. If I did my job right, Varessia would be too busy trying to unmake me to notice the girl slipping up the spine of the building.
I walked back into the small stone room. It was sparse and barren. A good place to wait for the end.
I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
I had made peace with the probability of my death years ago.It was a tactical inevitability—a calculation of risk versus reward. But tonight, the calculation felt different. It was personal.
Because for the first time in my life, I was fighting to ensure someone else survived.
The handle of my door turned.
I didn’t reach for my magic. I didn’t need to. A subtle heat pricked the scar over my heart before the latch even clicked.
Selene.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She wore a short, plain tunic, the hem barely brushing her bare legs. The sight of it—dark cotton against her pale skin, the way it swallowed her frame—stole the breath from my lungs.
She closed the door and locked it. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
She stood against the heavy wood, the amber light of the glow-stones catching the restlessness vibrating under her skin.
