Chapter 6: Forced Distance

Riven Kaelthorne stood before the Council without bowing.

The chamber was carved from black stone and glass, circular and oppressive, its walls etched with sigils that hummed softly wards meant to remind even Alphas that power here was conditional. Light filtered down from above like a judgment rather than illumination.

“You have been… reactive,” Elder Thane said, her voice smooth as polished steel.

Riven clasped his hands behind his back, posture immaculate. “I respond to threats.”

“Minor disturbances,” another Elder corrected. “Petty disputes. Areas that do not require Alpha Commander intervention.”

Riven’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly which areas they meant.

Ari’s district.

“The city is under strain,” Thane continued. “Rogue activity is increasing. We need our enforcers focused. Not distracted.” The word slid between them like a blade.

“I am not distracted,” Riven said evenly.

A pause.

Then: “You are bonded.”

The word echoed louder than it should have.

Riven’s Wolf surged violent, defiant but he locked it down with brutal discipline. “I have not claimed anyone.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Thane replied. “You deny what exists. And denial destabilizes.”

Silence stretched.

“We are tightening oversight,” the Elder said. “The Omega will be monitored. You will maintain distance.”

Riven inclined his head, a perfect soldier accepting orders.

Inside, something splintered.

He did not go near Ari after that.

He rerouted patrols. Changed schedules. Assigned others to districts he once watched personally.

He avoided streets that might cross Ari’s path, cafes he knew he frequented, even the elevated transit lines that passed near Ari’s apartment.

Distance, Riven told himself, was control.

At night, he stood alone in his quarters, staring at the city through reinforced glass, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He felt Ari anyway.

Not scent. Not instinct.

Emotion.

A flicker of unease that made his chest tighten. A sudden spike of fear that sent his Alpha pacing beneath his skin. A quiet, aching loneliness that had no business being his.

Riven pressed his palm to the window, fingers curling as if he could anchor himself there.

Ignore it.

He had ignored worse.

Cassian found Riven in the old training hall after curfew, the one no one used anymore because the lights flickered and the floor bore scars from decades of unrestrained combat. Riven stood at the center, shirt discarded, sweat cooling on his skin, fists still clenched as if he’d stopped moving mid strike rather than chosen to stop.

Cassian leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re going to break something if you keep going like that.”

Riven didn’t turn. “That’s the point.”

Cassian snorted softly and pushed off the wall, crossing the space between them with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times.

“You’ve already broken enough tonight.”

That got Riven’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder, expression sharp. “You here to lecture me too?”

“You’ve been snapping at lieutenants and scaring rookies,” Cassian continued. “You nearly tore a man’s shoulder out for questioning an order.”

“He questioned authority,” Riven replied.

Cassian snorted. “He asked for clarification.”

Riven didn’t answer.

Riven exhaled slowly and finally turned, raking a hand through his hair. “Since when did you become my keeper?”

Cassian’s mouth twitched. “Since the day you dragged me out of the lower rings with a fractured rib and told the Council I was your responsibility.”

That shut Riven up.

Cassian straightened, expression sobering. “This is about the Omega.”

Riven’s gaze snapped to him, lethal. “Do not say his name.”

Silence.

Then Cassian sighed. “You’re falling apart.”

“I am fine.” Riven snapped.

“You’re unraveling,” Cassian corrected. “And pretending you’re not is making it worse.”

Riven turned away, fists clenched. “The Council wants distance. I am giving it to them.”

“At the cost of what?” Cassian asked quietly.

Riven didn’t respond. Because he already knew the answer and hated it.

They stood in silence for a moment, memories hanging between them two reckless Alphas once, fighting side by side in underground skirmishes before the Council noticed either of them. Riven had been all sharp edges and fury back then, brilliant and dangerous. Cassian had been louder, easier, laughing even when blood stained his teeth.

They’d survived because they trusted each other.

“I know that look,” Cassian said quietly. “You’re trying to out discipline yourself.”

“It’s working,” Riven replied automatically.

Cassian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “No. It worked when we were twenty and angry at the world. This?” He gestured vaguely at Riven. “This is you trying to punish yourself.”

Riven’s jaw tightened. “I can’t afford distraction.”

“You’ve never been distracted,” Cassian countered. “You’ve always been in control. This is different.”

Riven looked away.

Cassian sighed. “We didn’t become best friends because we followed rules, Riv. We became friends because when everything else fell apart, we watched each other’s backs. Because you knew when I was lying about being fine, and I knew when you were about to self destruct.”

Riven let out a bitter breath. “Then you know this bond is a weakness.”

Cassian shook his head. “No. I know you’re terrified of becoming your father.”

The words landed softly and hit hard.

Cassian continued, gentler now. “You’re not him. And whatever this is with Ari, it’s not control that scares you. It’s caring.”

Riven closed his eyes.

For a moment just one he let the weight settle. Let himself lean back against the wall, shoulders tense but no longer braced for impact.

Cassian stayed beside him, silent, steady.

That was how it had always been between them.

No rank. No command. Just trust forged in blood, loyalty tempered by years, and the quiet understanding that some battles couldn’t be fought alone.

The patrol alert came during shift change. Minor disturbance. Civil dispute. Raised voices near Market Row.

Riven barely glanced at the details before his Wolf surged. “Ari’s district.”

Pain lanced through his chest sharp, sudden, disorienting. Fear that wasn’t his clawed at his nerves. Anger followed, white-hot and feral.

Riven moved before thought caught up.

“Riven?” Cassian said sharply as Riven redirected the unit. “That’s not our…”

“Move,” Riven snarled. Not at Cassian but at his squad. The squad exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed.

By the time they arrived, the disturbance had already de-escalated two civilians arguing, security drones hovering lazily overhead.

Nothing.

Riven stood frozen, breath heavy, hands trembling at his sides. The emotion ebbed slowly, leaving behind shame and fury.

Cassian stepped closer. “That wasn’t instinct,” he said under his breath. “That was him.”

Riven closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he admitted.

And for the first time, fear outweighed denial.