Riven moved through the crowd, his steps controlled but his breath deepening, his chest rising with the force of something raw and untamed. The anger inside him wasn't sudden—it never was. It started as a small ember, barely noticeable, before growing into a wildfire that burned through every rational thought.
He had felt this before.
When Damon and Mal ignored his summons, their disobedience a stain against his authority.
When Cole and his lackeys ambushed him, thinking their numbers would make him falter.
When he stood in the Void, surrounded by suffocating nothingness, fighting against the abyss itself with nothing but his will to survive.
Each time, the rage had built, crawling beneath his skin, whispering for release. To punish. To break. To dominate.
Now, it clawed at him again, demanding an outlet. Demanding blood.
