The moment Riven's heartbeat calmed, Soren tightened his hold—but then something reached his nose, a familiar smell. A faint chemical tang, almost metallic. He froze, senses sharpening in an instant. He knew that smell—a hallmark of a particularly dangerous substance, one that is famous for all the wrong reasons.
A drug from the black market, known to trigger animalistic rage and ferocity in those who took it.
Soren's mind raced. This was no accident, Riven was being targeted. Whoever had given Riven this drug had chosen that specific drug carefully.
It was used not just to destroy but to frame: make someone appear savage, unfit, dangerous, then swoop in and take their power, their land, their reputation. Such incidents were a pretty common occurrence.
"Nicholas," he breathed, low and tense.
