I braced for the argument. The snap. Instead, she simply nodded. That scared me more than her magic did.
I guided her through the alley, staying close enough to catch her if she stumbled. The tension in my chest steadied with every step she took beside me. She didn’t speak during the walk to the car. Her shoulder brushed mine once, and she inhaled deeply; her body seemed to remember the earlier contact.
I pretended I didn’t feel that, either.
She sank into the passenger seat, the adrenaline finally abandoning her. I rounded the car and slid in behind the wheel, the engine purring to life—a steady contrast to the chaos we’d left behind.
I glanced at her. She stared through the windscreen, eyes glassy, fighting to stay present.
“Address,” I said, my voice low.
“Slate Street,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the drumming of the rain. “The Old Quarter.”
I put the car in gear. The rain followed us across the city, pounding against the roof until the crumbling stone façade of her building loomed out of the dark.
I took her up the stairs—three flights of uneven stone. When we reached her door, she worked her key into the lock with a shaking hand. I guided her inside, steadying her towards the bedroom doorway. She leaned against the frame, eyes half-shut.
“You’re home,” I said. “Rest. You’ll be all right.”
She let out a breath—a quiet surrender. “Riven…”
Whatever she intended to say dissolved into the air between us. I stepped back before I did something reckless. Like reach for her hand again. Or let her see how that strange pull tugged tighter the farther I moved from her.
I waited until her breathing settled into the heavy measure ofexhaustion, then backed out of the room. I didn’t turn away immediately. I stood in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of her chest, shadows I had summoned still clinging to the corners of the room like watchful guards.
She was safe. For tonight, she was safe.
But as I grasped the handle, the ache in my chest intensified. It was a dead weight, a hook buried in the bone, dragging me towards her even as I forced myself to retreat.
I eased the bedroom door shut, sealing her in the dark. The latch clicked with a final sound.
I stood there in the hallway, my hand lingering on the brass knob. Beneath my shirt, the old scar across my ribs beat with a heated rhythm. I was a man of logic, of cold calculation. I understood enemies, strategies, and mission parameters. I did not understandthis.
I gritted my teeth and turned towards the stairs. I had to get back to the objective. I had to find the logic in this insanity. But as I descended, I couldn’t shake the terrifying absurdity of it: walking away was like leaving a vital piece of my own anatomy behind, and I didn’t have the first clue why.
The frigid airof Highspire stung my exposed skin, but I welcomed the bite. It was a chilly morning, a clean slate. I wrapped my shadow magic tight against my ribs—a second skin rendering me insignificant, a trick of the light that kept eyes from lingering.
These streets of glass and steel felt sterile underfoot. Beneath the pavement, the district’s wards vibrated—a constant ache in my teeth. High-security entrances and private guards marked the perimeter, accoutrements of a district designed to keep the unworthy out and the useful trapped within.
I walked with purpose, each stride measured against the void. But inside, a less practised cadence disrupted my focus.
Her.
The memory of the fight pit flashed unbidden—Selene’s hand pressed to my chest, the terrifying rush of her magic colliding with mine. It was more than power; it was recognition.
My jaw tightened. I shoved the memory down, treating it like an infection. It was a consequence of the overload, nothing more. A distraction I couldn’t afford.
I reached Korenth’s tower. The private lift ascended in silence, ears popping as the pressure changed.
The office at the apex smelled of burnt dust and old, inert magic when I entered it.
Korenth Vhail stood by his dark wooden desk, his back to me.
“The local authorities,” Korenth said. He spoke softly, though the ambient magic in the room hummed with a restless, jagged energy. “Have you contained them? I prefer the MCIU kept on a short leash. Their noses are becoming… intrusive.”
“The ACD has them gridlocked,” I stated, stepping into the room. “They are chasing dead ends and filing paperwork. I ensured their curiosity remains expensive and fruitless.”
“Good. Keep them paralysed. I tolerate the ACD because they are bought. The rest are merely obstacles.”
