Riven sat in the wreck of the station, knees drawn up, one arm wrapped tight around the satchel like it was the only thing keeping his chest from collapsing inward. Blood was soaking steadily into the cloth around his shoulder, hot and stubborn. He didn't press on it this time. There was no one to see.
Cassian was gone, but the words he'd left behind clung louder than the quiet.
"Sector Nine's quieter tonight. If you're smart, you'll head that way."
Riven didn't know what Sector Nine was. Another slum? A trade post? One of those half-forgotten zones where scavengers slept with knives under their tongues?
He exhaled and figured he had to get out of there anyway.
The gang members were still unconscious, two of them were bleeding, and the third was curled up on the floor, barely conscious. None of them looked like they'd be walking straight by morning. Riven didn't check. He had nothing to offer them anyway.
He pushed himself to his feet carefully. The movement pulled at his shoulder, sharp enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He caught himself against the wall, his hand pressing into grit.
Sector Nine.
Maybe that red-haired bastard had led him there on purpose, there was no way to know for sure.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, biting down on the pain, and stepped into the cooling night.
The sun had dropped past the horizon, leaving behind a soft glow that clung to the edges of broken towers. A weak wind passed through the streets, dragging dust behind it as it moved between the buildings.
Sector Nine was louder than Riven expected. There was a persistent buzz in the air, generators hidden in broken walls, lights blinking from old solar panels, voices echoing through tarp-covered alleys. The whole place had been built on top of an old train depot. Where tracks used to run, there were now rusted walkways, stacked tents, and neon signs flashing in forgotten languages.
He moved through it like someone walking through a dream. Slow music played somewhere, and someone laughed. Further ahead, pale lights spilled out from a long building marked with a single, hand-painted sign:
THE IVORY LINE.
Letters flaked at the edges, but the name had an elegance to it.
He didn't plan to stop there, but he caught a glimpse through the open door: it was a wide room wrapped in warm light. Soft furniture. A few faces turned toward him, curious but unwelcoming.
And then he saw him.
Cassian stood near the center of the room, shirt open at the chest, hands resting loosely at his sides as he listened to a client speak. His hair was tied back, neater now, and a strand of gold thread ran along the seam of his collar.
He looked like he belonged.
Riven almost turned around, but before he could, someone stepped in front of him. A young man, bare-shouldered, mouth painted in deep violet. His tone was sweet: "You lost, pretty thing?"
Riven didn't answer. He moved to step around him, but the man mirrored the motion, just enough to block him.
"Or maybe you're looking for someone who doesn't ask questions?" he said, voice dropping a bit.
Riven opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't yet sure what, but then the man took a step closer. His fingers brushed the strap of Riven's satchel.
That was when Cassian spoke gently.
"He's not for sale."
The escort paused.
Cassian was already walking toward them, loose-limbed and composed.
The other man raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know you were taking clients, Cass."
"I'm not."
"Then why...?"
Cassian stopped beside Riven, gaze sharp. "Because I said so."
There was a small tension between the two of them, then the man stepped back with a smirk, hands raised. "All yours."
He vanished into the warm light of the building without another word.
Cassian turned to Riven.
"You really know how to make an entrance" he said.
Riven didn't answer. He looked past him, toward a quieter street just beyond the brothel. Cassian followed the glance.
"Come on" he said. "I know a place."
Riven hesitated.
Cassian rolled his eyes, then smiled. "You're bleeding again. Don't make me drag you."
He walked off without waiting to see if Riven followed.
But Riven did.
The place Cassian led him to wasn't far, just a few turns off the main walkways of Sector Nine, down a back corridor where the lights had burned out and no one bothered to fix them.
It had once been a utility booth, maybe for water testing or maintenance. The faded label on the door still read W-9/7, half-covered in grime. Cassian pushed it open with his foot.
The room inside was narrow, dim, and dry. A cracked bench ran along one wall. The ceiling sagged in one corner where water damage had left black streaks, but there was no active leak. No sound of machines either.
Cassian stepped in first, made a quick pass around the small space, habit, probably, and then waved a hand toward the bench.
"Sit. Before you fall over and make it my problem."
Riven didn't argue. He lowered himself onto the bench slowly, keeping pressure on his shoulder. The bandage had loosened again. Blood had soaked through the edge of the fabric. He felt light-headed.
Cassian crouched nearby, rummaging through a small stash under a loose panel in the floor. He came back with a half-used roll of gauze and a tiny squeeze tube of something clear.
"Stolen" he said casually, holding up the tube. "But decent."
He didn't offer to help patch the wound. Just handed over the supplies and sat across from him, one leg stretched out, back against the wall.
Riven cleaned the cut as best he could, saying nothing. The antiseptic burned, and every movement sent sharp pain down his arm, but it was nothing he wasn't already used to.
Cassian watched him in the half-light.
"You're really not going to talk unless you have to, are you?" he asked.
Riven didn't look up.
Cassian waited before speaking again. "Most people who end up in places like this have nothing left. But you… you look a little too determined for someone who's still standing."
"I am" Riven said softly.
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
"That core you're protecting..." he continued, more carefully now, "It's not for trade, is it?"
Riven's eyes snapped to him.
For a second, he didn't answer. He hadn't expected Cassian to notice, let alone understand what it meant.
Cassian gave a small shrug, like the answer didn't matter, even if it clearly did.
"You kept it close even when you were bleeding out" he said. "Didn't try to hide the pain, but you never let go of the bag. That's not really trade behavior..."
Riven hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.
Cassian leaned back. "Then what? Sentimental value? Family heirloom?"
Riven didn't answer, and Cassian didn't press for more either.
They sat like that for a while, silent, tired, the air between them heavy with questions neither of them wanted to ask.
Finally, Cassian stretched his arms overhead and exhaled.
"I should charge you for this" he muttered. "You're taking up space, bleeding on the floor and all. And what's worse, giving me zero entertainment."
Riven gave him a quick look to show he was listening, but Cassian leaned his head back and closed his eyes, pretending to drift off.
The night passed in silence.
--------
Riven woke to silence, but there was something in the air that felt... aware.
He sat up slowly, then he felt it. It wasn't exactly sound, more of a low buzz that went through his chest before fading, never fully taking shape. Like water behind glass. Like a voice trying to rise, but never reaching the surface.
He blinked hard, trying to shake it, but it stayed. His hand moved to the satchel without thinking, confirming it was still there.
Cassian was sitting across the room, same spot as before, one leg bent, head tipped back against the wall. Watching.
Riven didn't ask how long he'd been up.
Cassian didn't blink. "Bad dream?"
Riven shook his head. "I don't think it was a dream."
A pause followed.
Cassian studied him for a while longer, then said "If you start mumbling in your sleep, I'm selling you to the next mystic cult I find."
Riven let out half a laugh, or something close to it.
The strange sensation in his chest had faded, but outside, somewhere, something had noticed him.