Riven's Pov
I sat slouched on the edge of the couch in Sylas's living room, the cushions sinking beneath my weight like they wanted to swallow me whole. Nyelle had taken her bags of goods into my arms when we got here, then darted down the hall with a chirpy, "Sit! I'll get Dad."
I still had the faint ache in my wrist from carrying her ridiculous pile of groceries with one hand while she clung to the other like I was her tether to the demon plane. Even now, I could almost feel her grip there, stubborn and unyielding.
The house smelled of incense and polished wood. It was different from the palace—too quiet, too still. I tapped my fingers against my knee, waiting.
Then footsteps. Heavy, deliberate ones.
Sylas appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes narrowing when they landed on me. His white hair was tied back loosely. His face as always showing no signs of his age.
"Well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Didn't expect to see you so soon."
