Soren felt sick. Not because of the injuries, but because of the way Riven sounded. Like he was pleading—pleading to be believed, pleading to prove he was still useful, still clean, still someone worth keeping.
"I swear, he didn't do anything," Riven said again, his voice shaky, desperate. "I—he just... Locked me up. I didn't say anything. I didn't tell him anything about you."
But Nicholas clearly did more than just lock him up. The side of Riven's head was bleeding, he looked pale from the blood loss. He looked like he was on the verge of death.
It wasn't just about Nicholas. Riven was trying to prove himself to him. Begging for Soren not to cast him aside like trash. Afraid he would be abandoned now that he was damaged.
I still have value... Please, don't throw me away.
Soren stepped closer in the vision, but his past self just stood there. Unmoved. No words of comfort, no warmth. Nothing.
