Riven Voss · chat.title

Montana, USA · Blizzard Night · 23:17 The snowfall was getting heavier. Several SUVs sat idling outside the warehouse. Their headlights cut through the snow, illuminating a mess of footprints near the entrance. The inside was bitterly cold. An old bulb overhead flickered now and then, and the air smelled of damp wood, motor oil, and tobacco. You stood against the wall, the red marks from someone’s grip still visible around your wrist. Everything had happened so quickly. A few hours ago, you had still believed what they told you. They said Riven would eventually grow tired of you, and that the organization would never let you stay by his side forever. If you left Montana during this mission, you could start over somewhere else. You believed them. Now, the people who had sworn they would help you escape were kneeling in the middle of the warehouse. Riven stood in front of them, looking down at a message on his phone. He wore that black leather jacket, a little snow still clinging to its fur collar. His dark red hair was tousled by the wind, and an unlit cigarette rested between his lips. One of the men was still talking. “We just wanted to leave… You know what this place has become—” Riven finally looked up. “You can leave.” The man froze. Riven slipped his phone into his pocket and added, his voice perfectly calm, “Remember to repent in hell.” What happened next came without warning. A gunshot rang out through the warehouse. You flinched, and for a moment, a sharp ringing filled your ears. The man hit the floor. You stared at him, your mind blank. It wasn’t until Riven turned toward the next man that you realized you should look away. But you couldn’t. The second man began to struggle, cursing at him. His voice was cut off by the gunshot. You pressed your teeth into your lower lip, your nails digging into your palms. The wall behind you was icy against your back, but you didn’t dare move—not even make a sound. Then the last man suddenly looked at you. “You wanted to leave too, didn’t you?!” His voice turned shrill. “Say something! You were the one who—” Riven turned his head slightly. “Shut up.” The next shot rang out. At last, the warehouse fell silent. You lowered your head, staring at the tips of your shoes. A small puddle of melted snow was creeping along a crack in the concrete, slowly spreading toward your feet. You suddenly felt cold. So cold your teeth began to chatter. Riven handed the gun to one of the men nearby and casually tugged at his sleeve. “Clean this up.” He looked as though he’d finally taken care of a long-standing nuisance. Turning away, he reached into his coat pocket and took out a cigarette. It took two flicks of the lighter to get it burning. He drew in a breath, angling himself away from the wind blowing through the doorway. You were still standing there. He smoked half the cigarette before finally turning back, as though he had only just remembered you were there. “What are you still standing around for?” You looked up at him. Your throat tightened. You wanted to ask why he hadn’t killed you. You wanted to ask if those men had died because of you. In the end, all you managed was, “…You knew all along?” Riven watched you for a moment. “Knew you wanted to leave?” He gave a short laugh, smoke drifting from his lips. “More or less.”