Korenth nodded slowly. “True. Morrow lacks… finesse.”
He looked at me, decision made.
“Very well. Go to the station. Embed yourself. I will send the authorisation to Morrow immediately.”
He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms.
“Make sure the ACD keeps the police blind, Riven. Keep the peace. Or silence it.”
“Understood.”
I turned to leave. I needed to get out. The pressure in the room was crushing me, that watching presence boring into my back. My scar burned as if bleeding, though I knew the skin was unbroken.
I reached the door.
“Oh, and Riven?”
I stopped. I didn’t turn around.
“Varessia is looking for you,” Korenth said. “She’s in the building. She says she wants to catch up.”
A fresh wash of cold claimed me.
“Understood.”
I walked out. The door slid shut, cutting off the suffocating atmosphere of the office.
I leaned against the corridor wall for a second, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hand was shaking.
I looked down at my chest. A faint wisp of smoke was curling from the fabric of my shirt, directly over the scar.
I brushed it away.
I survived Korenth. Now I had to survive her.
Instead of takingthe lift down, I took the corridor that connected the East Tower to the West. Varessia’s executive suite was on the top floor, but when I reached the heavy double doors, her assistant—a pale young man with dark circles carved under his eyes—intercepted me.
“Miss Quinn isn’t in the office, sir,” he stammered, keeping his gaze fixed on my tie knot. “She… she’s waiting for you in her private residence. The Penthouse.”
My step faltered. Just for a second.
The Penthouse. I hadn’t been there in a decade. Not since I was twenty-three, naive enough to mistake consumption for affection.
“She’s expecting me?”
“Yes, sir. She said… she said you know the way.”
I clenched my jaw. I did.
I took the private lift up. The biometric scanner recognised me instantly, flashing green without hesitation. She never removedmy access. It was a leash, a reminder that the door was always welcome to crawl back.
The doors slid open.
The apartment was a sprawling expanse of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the entire city. It was beautiful and soulless.
The temperature plummeted the moment I stepped inside. The air here smelled like a freezer—sterile and biting.
“You took your time,” she said.
