A guard. Memory returned in fractured pieces. The lift shaft. The Umbrakynn guard lunging. Riven tackling him. The snap of bone. Riven killed him to save me, and now the body was found.
“I’ll be there first thing tomorrow,” I said, trying to anchor his panic with my own voice. “Keep ACD away from the scene if you can. Don’t let him near the logs.”
“I’ll try,” Orin replied, his voice still unsteady. “No promises. Just… get some sleep, Selene. You sound as bad as I feel.”
I ended the call and slid the phone away.
The taxi pulled up to my building. The journey from Riven’s manor had taken me from the far end of the Old Quarter to my own neighbourhood on its opposite side, closer to the city centre. My flat was less ornate than his home, marked by crumbling brick and peeling paint, but it was mine. I paid the driver and stepped out onto the pavement just as the last of the light vanished.
The evening air was biting. I turned, looking back the way we came, towards the coast. I could not see the cliffs from here as the city was too dense and the rooftops too high, but I knew he was there, still within the boundaries of the Quarter.
A tether drew me towards him—a quiet certainty of his presence, even at this distance. He was healing. He was safe.
Tomorrow, we had a body to deal with. I only hoped the dead man did not tell tales.
Tuesday morning arrived with a grey,flat light that did no favours to my mood.
I moved through the flat on autopilot—shower, coffee, toast I didn’t really eat. My mind had drifted back to Duskfall Manor. I checked my phone for the third time in ten minutes. No messages.
I should have called him. Just to check. He took a knife to the gut two days ago; standard protocol suggested a “how are you not dead” text was appropriate. But my thumb hovered over his name, and I didn’t press send.
What did I say? Thanks for the history dump? Thanks for bleeding on my shirt? Thanks for looking at me like I was the only living thing in the room?
I shoved the phone into my pocket and grabbed my coat. Later. I’d call him later.
I locked up and headed down the stairs, car keys in hand. I pushed open the main door to the street—and stopped dead.
He was there.
Riven leaned against his sleek black car, claiming the pavement directly in front of my building. He wore a long dark coat, collar turned up against the chill, arms crossed over his chest.
He looked… fine.
Better than fine. He looked immovable.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” I said, stopping a foot short of him.
He pushed off the car, straightening with effortless ease. “I rested. It was sufficient.”
“You took a knife to the gut, Riven. ‘Sufficient’ usually involves more than forty-eight hours.”
“And you healed it,” he countered, his voice low, intimate despite the open street. “The wound is gone, Selene. Like it never happened.”
I stared at his chest, remembering the glow of my hands, the way his skin knit together. I did that. My magic—this strange, terrifyingAetherkind power—fixed him. A quiet, warm thrill settled in my stomach. I saved him.
“Get in,” Riven said without mentioning the hole in his gut again.
I took the passenger seat and the interior of the car closed around us, smelling of him. The usual suspicion and wariness between us had vanished, replaced by a settled alliance.
We reached the MCIU underground car park in silence, the weight of our shared secret anchoring the space. The world outside waited—bodies, politics, Darian Morrow—but inside the car, the connection remained solid.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Not even slightly.” I opened the door. “Let’s go.”
We walked into the bullpen together. I was conscious of his presence at my shoulder, his height and energy clearing a path through the morning rush. When we walked through the double doors, the chatter in the room faltered. Heads turned.
Orin was at the coffee machine. He spotted us, and his eyes widened behind his glasses. He looked from me to Riven, his features tight with confusion and alarm.
