“We should move to the living room,” Callum suggested, his voice unnaturally calm. He glanced at Greyson, seeking some confirmation, some direction. Greyson only nodded.

  “What about him?” Shadera asked, gesturing toward the bloodied officer with a tilt of her head.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Greyson replied, his tone flat.

  Lira flinched at the words, her shoulders drawing tight beneath her elegant dress. She stepped back from the doorway, allowing them to file past her. Callum moved last, pausing beside her with words of explanation or comfort ready on his tongue. But when he met her eyes through the openings in her mask, the words died. There was no explanation he could offer that would erase what she’d seen, no comfort that wouldn’t sound like a lie.

  The living room still bore the marks of violence. Though the bodies were now gone, the furniture placed upright and glass swept up, his cleaning crew still worked methodically, removing bloodstains from every surface. One worker was carefully replacing a shattered mirror, while another scrubbed at dark patches on the kitchen floor. They studiously avoided looking at the four of them as they entered the room, their training ensuring that nothing they witnessed would ever be repeated outside these walls.

  Callum sank into an armchair, suddenly aware of the dried blood flaking from his clothes, his hands, beneath his fingernails. Lira chose the farthest seat from him, perching on the edge of a sofa as if ready to flee at any moment. Greyson remained standing, his posture stiff, while Shadera claimed a spot on the arm of a chair next to Greyson, her body language suggesting casual indifference despite the tension filling the room.

  “There were Veyra officers in the apartment last night,” Greyson began without preamble, his voice controlled. “We dealt with them. The one we are interrogating, Callum found surveilling us on his way here to help clean up the mess.”

  Callum watched as Lira’s posture shifted in understanding.

  “And the torture?” Lira asked, turning back to her brother. “Was that your idea?”

  “Mine,” Callum spoke before Greyson could answer. “We needed information. About your father’s plans.”

  Greyson’s head turned toward Callum, the motion sharp and sudden. “Speaking of plans,” he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, “when were you going to tell me you’ve been helping the rebellion?”

  The question hung in the air between them, years of friendship suddenly caught in their secrets. Callum didn’t immediately answer, weighing his response carefully. The truth was, he’d never planned to tell Greyson. Not because he didn’t trust him, but because knowledge was dangerous in the Heart. What Greyson didn’t know, he couldn’t betray—willingly or otherwise.

  “That’s fucking rich coming from you,” Shadera cut in, a harsh laugh escaping her.

  Lira turned toward her. “What does that mean?”

  Shadera glanced at Greyson, and he stilled. The silence that followed felt weighted, a physical presence pressing against Callum’s chest. He looked between them, sensing some unspoken knowledge passed in that shared glance.

  “Don’t,” Greyson said finally, his voice low.

  Shadera’s laugh this time was bitter, cutting. “How can anyone ever trust you when you don’t even trust each other?” She stood, pacing the length of the living room with restless energy. “All of you—elite of the Heart, Veyra, children of privilege—keeping secrets from each other like it’s your fucking job.”

  “Shadera,” Greyson warned, but she ignored him.

  “Your brother,” she continued, turning to face Lira and pointing toward Greyson, “has been smuggling goods into the rings. Medicine. Food. Supplies. All under your nose—your father’s nose.”

  Callum felt as the floor dropped out beneath him. His eyes snapped to Greyson, searching for confirmation or denial. His face revealed nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

  “Is that true?” Callum asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

  Greyson nodded once, a short, sharp motion. “Yes.”

  Something warm and unexpected flared in Callum’s chest—pride, he realized. Pride in his friend who had found the courage to act, to resist. All this time, while Callum had been running his operations, Greyson had been fighting his own silent battle.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Callum asked, leaning forward. “I could’ve helped. We could’ve coordinated our efforts.”

  “The same reason you didn’t tell me about your activities,” Greyson replied. “The fewer people who knew, the safer the operation.”

  Lira stood suddenly, her movements jerky as she took off her mask to reveal the emotion flooding her face. “Both of you,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “Both of you have been risking your lives, committing treason, and neither of you thought to trust me with the truth?” She turned to Greyson. “I’m your sister. I would have helped you. Protected you.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Greyson replied, a hint of gentleness entering his voice. “The Veyra watch you closely because of your position, your access to media and public perception. If you’d been caught helping me—”

  “But you didn’t even trust me with the truth.” Lira’s voice sharpened. “Even if you didn’t let me help, you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  “It wasn’t about trust,” Greyson insisted, falling onto the couch next to where Shadera had sat again. “It was about safety. The fewer people involved, the fewer deaths when our father eventually discovers what I’ve been doing.”

  Callum watched the siblings, feeling a familiar ache in his chest. How many times had he wanted to tell Lira the truth about his own activities? But he’d kept silent for the same reason Greyson had—to protect her, to keep her untainted by the violence and betrayal that had become his life.

  “We should get back to our guest,” Callum said, attempting to diffuse the tension. “Officer Webb might have more information we can use.”

  Lira went completely still, her body freezing mid-motion. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice suddenly hollow.

  Callum’s brow furrowed, sitting up straighter at the edge in her voice. “We should question the officer again—”

  “His name,” Lira interrupted. “What’s his name?”

  Something in her tone sent a chill down Callum’s spine. “Webb,” he repeated. “Veyra Officer Marcus Webb.”

  Lira stayed silent for a long moment, her breathing becoming shallow and quick. When she spoke again, her voice was so calm, it felt violent. “Give me your gun, Cal.”

  The request stopped him, and for a moment he simply stared at her. “What?”

  “Your gun,” she repeated, extending her hand. “Give it to me.”

  Callum didn’t hesitate at her request as he withdrew his gun from the holster on his shoulder and placed it in Lira’s outstretched hand. Her fingers closed around the weapon with surprising familiarity.

  The Lira he knew was not the woman standing in front of him.

  “Lira,” Greyson began, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she turned and walked toward the weapons room.

  The three of them remained frozen in the living room, an unspoken agreement keeping them seated as Lira disappeared through the doorway. Callum’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

  Marcus’s voice rose in panic from the other room. “Wait—please—I know you—I didn’t want to—they made me—”

  His pleas were cut short by a single gunshot. The sound cracked through the apartment like thunder, followed by a silence more absolute than any Callum had ever experienced.

  Greyson rose from his seat, but before he could move toward the weapons room, Lira reappeared in the doorway. Blood spattered her face and the front of her dress, bright crimson against pale blue. Her hand, still holding the gun, hung limp at her side.

  She crossed the room with measured steps and returned the weapon to Callum. He took it automatically, his mind struggling to reconcile what had just happened.

  “Why?” he asked, unable to form a more coherent question.

  Lira stared at him, her eyes hollow and distant. “He was one of them,” she said, her voice flat. “One of the ones my father gave me to when I was fourteen.”

  The words took a moment to penetrate. When they did, he felt as the air was sucked from his lungs. Greyson had gone completely rigid, the rage in his body palpable without a single movement.

  “What are you talking about?” Greyson asked, his voice barely audible.

  Lira turned to her brother, something breaking in her posture. “You never wondered why I was so obedient? Why I never questioned Father’s orders the way you or Brooker did?” She laughed, the sound empty of humor. “He needed the Veyra’s loyalty. Needed to ensure they would follow him without question. So he gave them something valuable. Me.”

  Callum felt bile rise in his throat. The President had traded his own daughter’s body to secure the loyalty of his officers. Had allowed them to rape her, to use her for his own agenda.

  “How many?” Callum managed, the words scraping his throat raw.

  “Eleven,” Lira answered, her voice steady despite the horror of her revelation. “Eleven officers over three months, before Mother found out and put a stop to it.” She looked at Greyson. “She threatened to kill herself if he continued. It was the only time I ever saw her stand up to him, and the President couldn’t have the stain of a weak wife on his reputation.”

  Greyson took a step toward his sister, hands reaching for her, but she backed away.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t touch me. Not now.”

  Shadera’s hand shot up at the despair in her voice. Lira’s fingers clung to her, wrapping around Shadera’s so tight Callum could see her knuckles blanching. Slowly Shadera stood, stepping in front of Lira, and began wiping the blood from her face with her free hand. When she finished she grabbed Lira’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.

  “Good for you.” Shadera’s voice was sharp, strong. “He deserved that bullet, and I promise to help you do whatever you need to put one in the other ten.”

  Callum sat frozen, unable to process the magnitude of what he’d just learned. All these years, he’d thought he was protecting Lira. All these years, he’d believed she needed sheltering from the ugly realities of the Heart’s power structure. But she’d already seen it, knew better than he ever would just how cruel it could be. And all this time, she’d been carrying this burden alone, this unimaginable trauma inflicted by her own father.

  Rage scorched a fiery path through Callum’s chest, a living thing with claws that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. He thought of the officer’s blood spilling across the weapons room floor, of the single gunshot that had ended his life, and felt only satisfaction that Lira had been the one to pull the trigger. It was a small justice, inadequate against the enormity of the crime, but it was something.

  His eyes met Lira’s across the room, and in that moment, he made a silent vow to destroy the entire rotting edifice of the Heart’s government. To tear it down stone by stone until nothing remained of Maximus Serel’s legacy but ashes.

  * * *

  GREYSON STOOD IN THE center of his living room, blood singing through his veins like static in his ears as he watched Shadera speak to his sister. But he couldn’t hear her words, couldn’t hear anything over the fury consuming his mind. Lira’s words hung in the air like poison, seeping into every corner of the room, changing everything.

  His father had sold Lira. Sold her.

  He’s going to fucking burn for this.

  The logical part of his brain took over, shoving emotion aside on instinct like it always had. A symptom of surviving a monster.

  “We need to lay everything on the table,” he said, his voice rough and distant to his own ears. “No more secrets between us. No more protecting each other through silence.” He looked at each of them in turn—Callum, still seated with the gun in his hand. Shadera, watching him with those piercing green eyes. Lira, blood spattered and hollow eyed but standing tall. “If we have any chance against my father, we need complete honesty. Complete trust.”

  The words felt strange on his tongue. Trust was a luxury in New Found Haven, a commodity rarer and more precious than anything in the Heart. For years, he had operated on the assumption that isolation was safety, that sharing his plans would only create vulnerabilities. Now, with the knowledge of what his father was planning—with the sound of his sister’s voice describing the horrors she’d lived with in secret—he realized that isolation had only ever served Maximus’s interests.

  “That’s a nice idea,” Shadera started, breaking the silence that followed his declaration. She fell back onto the couch, arms crossed over her chest. “But maybe this apartment, where we just murdered eight Veyra officers for surveilling us, isn’t the smartest location.”

  “She’s right,” Callum said, finally holstering the gun and dragging a hand down his face. “My place, then,” he suggested, rising from his chair. “Tonight. I have security measures that even your father’s tech can’t penetrate.”

  Greyson nodded, his expression softening as he turned to Lira. “Are you okay to join us tonight? We could use your expertise with media and public perception.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said simply. “I know things about his inner circle that might help us.” She paused, her voice dropping lower. “And I want to be part of ending him.”

  The venom in her tone made Greyson’s hair stand on edge. Lira—the voice of reason for the Serel family—had been replaced with someone harder, someone forged in pain and long buried rage. He wondered how much of the sister he thought he knew had been a carefully curated facade, a survival mechanism in a household ruled by cruelty.

  “What about her?” Callum asked, nodding toward Shadera. “Can she risk leaving the apartment again after your little murder spree?”

  Greyson and Shadera answered at once.

  “Oh, I am fucking coming.”

  “I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

  The memory of her near escape was still raw, still burning at the edges of his consciousness. “Where I go, she goes.”

  Callum rose, straightening his bloodstained clothes as best he could. “I’ll have my men finish cleaning here,” he said, gesturing to the lingering evidence of violence. “The bodies will never be found.”

  “Thank you,” Greyson said, the words inadequate for what he truly felt. Gratitude, yes, but also a profound relief at no longer carrying his secrets alone.

  As Callum moved toward the door, a sharp knock froze them all in place. The sound echoed through the apartment, three precise raps against wood that carried the unmistakable authority of Veyra command. Greyson’s eyes met Callum’s across the room, a silent message passing between them—danger.

  “Masks,” Greyson hissed, already reaching for his own. The others moved quickly, replacing their masks with practiced efficiency. Shadera’s fingers brushed against his as he handed hers to her, the brief contact sending an unwelcome spark through his nervous system.

  The knock came again, more insistent this time. Greyson drew a deep breath, forcing his features into the expressionless mask of the Executioner even before the physical mask settled over his face. He nodded to the others, who positioned themselves strategically around the room—Callum by the kitchen island, hand resting casually near his concealed weapon. Lira beside the window, adopting a posture of aristocratic indifference. Shadera just behind him, a deadly shadow.

  Greyson opened the door, body angled to block as much of the apartment from view as possible. Captain Mikel stood in the hallway, his Veyra uniform pristine, his helmet snug over his head. Even covered, Greyson could feel his stare assessing his bare torso, head tilting to peer over his shoulder at the others in the room.

  “Executioner,” Mikel said, his tone formal but with an undercurrent of tension Greyson had never heard before. “I hope I’m not interrupting a social gathering.”

  “What do you want, Mikel?” Greyson asked, not bothering to mask the edge in his voice. He shifted his stance, further blocking Mikel’s view of the apartment’s wreckage—of the hallway leading to the weapons room where Marcus’s body still cooled.

  “Your father sent me,” he replied, his tone sharp.

  “I’m listening,” Greyson said, maintaining his position in the doorway as anxious frustration flared in his chest.

  Mikel paused, his head tilting again, moving slowly as if he were making mental notes. Shadera stepped up beside Greyson, fully blocking Mikel’s view, and for the first time, Greyson was so fucking thankful for that woman.

  When he spoke again, his voice had taken on an official cadence that suggested he was delivering rehearsed words.

  “The President has ordered to see you and the Daggermouth in his Haven Tower offices immediately,” Mikel announced, each word precise and flat. “Alone.”

  The demand percolated between them as Greyson forced his breathing to stay steady. Immediate summons to the President’s office always ended with a warning—a threat. Greyson felt Shadera move closer beside him, the heat of her body reaching out as if trying to calm him.

  “What’s this regarding?” Greyson asked, buying time as his mind raced through possibilities, none of them good.

  “He did not say,” Mikel replied, his face revealing nothing. “Only that your presence is required without delay.” He paused, then added with careful emphasis, “Both of you.”

  Greyson felt rather than saw the tension ripple through Shadera’s body. This summons wasn’t a request. It was a command backed by the full authority of the Heart. Refusing wasn’t an option—not without triggering immediate suspicion, immediate response. Whatever his father wanted, they would have to face it directly.

  “We’ll need a moment to prepare,” Greyson said, his voice calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind.