“This is why we did not tell you first,” Jaeger hissed, and Jameson’s eyes snapped toward him. “We planned to tell you after Greyson was out, once the extraction was complete, because you are emotional. You are an idealist believing you can save everyone. But you can’t, Jameson. We cannot save everyone.”

  Jameson opened his mouth to speak, but Jaeger raised a hand.

  “We tried to get Shade out for you safely. We have not betrayed you, only kept you in the dark to the things you did not need to know until you were capable of focusing on something other than her. But that mission was not a failure. We learned valuable information through you, that the President plans to bomb us. That there are things he keeps even from Mikel.”

  Callum finally spoke, his voice level, relaxed. “I think we can all agree that we should’ve trusted each other from the beginning, that unity in light of all we know now would have been the better route. But we’re here now, and we don’t have time to fight between ourselves. Greyson and Shadera don’t have time, the rings do not have time.” He tapped a ring against the table, the rap of it vibrating through Lira. “We have to get back to the Heart, so let’s stop fucking around and finish this.”

  Lira clenched her jaw, forcing back the tide of questions that were trying to drown her. Callum was right.

  The conversation continued around her, tactical details and contingency plans flowing in a current her ears refused to hear. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on her brother, studying the changes time and secrecy had carved into him. He was leaner, harder, his softness replaced by the sharp edges of a man who had lived in the shadows.

  Her gaze drifted to Callum, watching his face as he discussed extraction routes with Jaeger. His expression was focused, determined. He had known. Somehow he had known all of it. He hadn’t flinched at a single revelation, hadn’t shown surprise to any of the truths shared tonight. He’d known Brooker was alive and he’d kept it from her.

  “Li, did you hear me?”

  Her eyes snapped to Brooker.

  “I said we will need a distraction when the Daggermouths move on Maximus,” Brooker repeated.

  “You’ll have one,” she promised, and something in her voice sent a chill down her own spine. “The Heart won’t know what hit it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE PAST TENSE

  THERE HAD BEEN NO food. No water. Only the rhythmic sound of Greyson’s breathing at Shadera’s back from his cell. She couldn’t tell how long they had been there. The Veyra officers hadn’t returned since Maximus’s visit—no more beatings, but also no sustenance. A different kind of torture. Slower. More deliberate.

  Her tongue was swollen in her mouth, dry as sand. Thirst clawed at her throat, a desperate animal scratching to be freed. She tried to shift in the chair, seeking any position that might ease the pressure on her broken body, but the cords bit deeper with each movement. A hiss of pain escaped through her cracked lips, echoing in the sterile cell.

  Her mind drifted in and out of clarity, memories surfacing and submerging like debris in murky water. Contract 205. The words repeated in her mind, a mantra that had once meant nothing more than another job, another target. Another mark to eliminate for the good of the Boundary.

  Levi Pierce. Heart informant.

  The details of the contract swam before her eyes. High priority. A traitor selling Cardinal secrets.

  The photograph flashed in her mind. It all made sense now, the nagging of recognition that she couldn’t place. The man that her mind knew, but the context was wrong. Greyson and Levi Pierce. Greyson and Brooker.

  Her mind had refused to connect the dots, the very idea was impossible. Heart elite didn’t remove their masks. They didn’t venture into Cardinal without guards, without protection, without the trappings of their status.

  Shadera’s stomach twisted. She’d been jealous of the Daggermouth that got that contract, and wished it’d been hers. All this time it was, and she had no idea. She’d been used. Manipulated. And she’d killed someone who was rising up against the Heart, against Maximus.

  She’d killed Greyson’s brother.

  For the first time in her life, she found herself questioning everything she’d done as a Daggermouth, everything she’d stood for. Every contract she’d fulfilled, every life she’d ended in the name of justice, of vengeance, of the greater good.

  How many had been based on lies? How many had been innocent people sacrificed to maintain political fictions? How many times had she been a pawn in a game she didn’t even know she was playing?

  She’d become a Daggermouth as a child with nothing left but rage and a promise to make the Heart pay for what it’d taken from her. Jaeger had seen her potential, had molded her into a weapon, had given her purpose when she had none.

  But what purpose? To kill on command? To eliminate targets without question, without hesitation, without ever considering that the lines between enemy and ally, between guilty and innocent, might be blurred beyond recognition?

  She’d told herself she was fighting for the Boundary, for justice, for a better future. But maybe she’d been nothing more than another cog in the machine of oppression—just serving a different master.

  The tears came without warning, silent trails cutting through the dried blood on her face. She didn’t bother trying to stop them. What was the point of pride now?

  “Greyson.” Her voice was raw and barely audible. The quiet between them had become its own kind of prison, more isolating than the glass walls surrounding her. “Please talk to me.”

  No response came. Just the sound of his breathing, steady and controlled. Too controlled. She knew that rhythm—the deliberate inhale and exhale of someone fighting to maintain composure.

  The silence from his cell was worse than any beating. She’d been prepared for physical pain, for torture, for death. But this—this emptiness where his voice should be—it hollowed her out from the inside.

  “I know you hate me,” she tried again, each word scraping her parched throat. “I would hate me too. But please… I need to know what you’re thinking. I need you to talk to me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  His voice cut through the silence, hard and cold as the concrete beneath her feet. There was something in it she’d never heard before—not just anger, but a void. An emptiness where emotion should be.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, relief and dread mingling at finally hearing his voice. “Anything. Scream at me. Tell me you hate me. Threaten me. Tell me you’re going to kill me. Just… something.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words woefully inadequate against the magnitude of what lay between them. “I didn’t know, Greyson. I swear to you, I didn’t know who he was.”

  The silence resumed. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the quiet growing heavier with each passing moment, the ache in her chest expanding until it threatened to consume her. She wanted his rage, his hatred, even disgust—anything but this.

  Some part of her, deep down, felt the sharp threat of fear, as if somehow she could lose him without ever having him in the first place.

  “Please,” she finally said again. The desperation leaking into her voice.

  “You lied to me,” Greyson answered, anger finally breaking through the emptiness. “You looked me in the eye and fucking lied to me.”

  “No, Greyson. I didn’t know.” Her words were frantic. “You heard your father, he was using an alias. I’d never seen his face. I didn’t know it was him.”

  “I thought I could trust you.” Greyson’s voice cracked, emotion finally bleeding into his words. “You were just another tool, like me. Like all of us.”

  Shadera’s tears flowed freely now at the truth in his words, the salt stinging where they met open wounds. She’d become exactly what she’d sworn to destroy—a weapon wielded by the powerful against the innocent. Her entire identity, everything she’d built herself to be, crumbled around her.

  She didn’t know who she was anymore. Couldn’t separate one regret from another as they all crashed together in her mind, a kaleidoscope of shame and horror.

  “I believed in what I was doing,” she whispered. “I thought I was protecting the Boundary, fighting back against the Heart. I was so fucking blind.”

  The silence that followed felt like a chasm opening between them, widening with each ragged breath she took. Still she continued, unable to stop the words pouring from her.

  “For years I’ve been so certain. So righteous. So fucking sure I was on the right side.” A bitter laugh escaped her, turning into a painful cough that rattled her broken ribs as she gasped. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

  Saying the words out loud, giving them power, collapsed something in her mind. The restraints bit deeper as her body shook with silent sobs. Blood seeped from where the cords had rubbed her skin raw, but she barely felt it. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through her heart, her soul, her very being.

  She’d spent her entire life fighting against the Heart, against the system that had taken everything from her. And in doing so, she’d become the very thing she hated—cruel, merciless, blind to the humanity of those she deemed enemies.

  “Please,” she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for. Forgiveness? Understanding? Death?

  She’d never felt so weak before, never allowed herself to question, to doubt, to break. But here, bound and bleeding, with everything stripped away, there was nowhere left to hide. No mask to wear. No role to play.

  “I think I was falling in—” He cut himself off and for one breath, he was silent before he finished. “I think I was starting to care about you.”

  Greyson’s words cut through her, precise and devastating.

  Past tense. Not anymore. Not after this.

  Shadera’s breath caught in her throat, a small, wounded sound escaping before she could stop it. It was an admission delivered as a death sentence.

  “I don’t know if I will ever look at you again and not see my brother’s blood on your hands.”

  Each word drove deeper than any torture Maximus could devise. She would have preferred more beatings, more broken bones, more physical agony to this—this decimation of something that hadn’t even begun between them.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it. To acknowledge or name the emotion that swelled in her chest when she thought of him, when she looked at him. When she imagined him caring for anybody else.

  She didn’t know what love felt like. Didn’t know how to separate it from lust. But this feeling, this bone deep fear of losing him, made her question it.

  Something inside Shadera broke. It wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t explosive, but a quiet, delicate, irreversible snap.

  * * *

  GREYSON HEARD SHADERA’S CRY like a knife between his ribs. Sharp. Persistent. The sound was so alien coming from her—the assassin who never flinched, who had stood before his father’s threats with steel in her spine.

  Her cries were quiet, restrained even in her breaking. Not the loud, dramatic weeping he’d heard from Heart nobles when they were denied some luxury, but the muffled sounds of someone who had learned early that vulnerability was dangerous, that pain was best endured in silence.

  He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her. To pull her against his chest and tell her that somehow it would be all right. The impulse disgusted him almost as much as it consumed him.

  She murdered your fucking brother.

  Another sob reached him, this one weaker, more ragged. He imagined her bound to that chair as he was, body broken by his father’s men, face streaked with tears and blood. The image made something primal and protective rise in his chest, straining against the cold logic of his anger.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen her vulnerable—truly vulnerable, not the calculated moments designed to earn his trust. The night of his father’s dinner, when she saw what he truly was. What Maximus had done to him.

  Greyson remembered how her fingers had trembled when they’d cupped his face. When she looked in his eyes and told him that he deserved better. That he was a better man than his father.

  He’d wanted to wrap himself around her then, to shield her from whatever demons pursued her, from whatever pain she’d endured to understand the violence that was in him. The feeling had been so strong, so unexpected that it’d frightened him.

  Now that same instinct surged through him, demanding action, demanding he break his silence, reach out to her across the void that separated them. His jaw clenched as he fought against it, refusing to speak.

  She wasn’t what he’d thought. Wasn’t who he’d thought. The woman he’d begun to care for, to trust, to—She didn’t exist. She was a fabrication, a tactical approach, a mission objective. And he was a fool for forgetting, even for a moment, the fundamental truth of the Heart: love outside your ring is a death sentence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 3 AM

  CALLUM’S FINGERS DRUMMED AGAINST his desk as the blue glow of surveillance screens painted his face in a ghostly light. The Vow would be happening today.

  Three in the morning, and the silence of the Heart beyond the walls of his club felt like the held breath before an execution. Each moment that passed brought them closer to dawn. Closer to chaos. Closer to either salvation or slaughter.

  His tablet sat in front of him, screen dark and silent. Waiting for Jameson’s call. Waiting for the confirmation that would set everything in motion.

  Callum glanced at the bar cart, contemplating then sighing and dragging his gaze away. Today was not one for dulled senses. Today required every neuron firing, every instinct sharp. His body vibrated with the strain of waiting, muscles coiled tight beneath his suit.

  He rose from his chair, unable to remain still any longer, and moved to the window. The Heart slept below him, its pristine towers and streets bathed in the artificial glow of security lights.

  By tonight, it could be burning.

  Callum pressed his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes against the view. The plan they’d constructed was full of gaps, of variables they couldn’t control.

  All of it had to work perfectly. All of it had to happen in precise synchronization.

  If it didn’t—

  His mind conjured images of slaughter. Of Boundary residents gunned down in streets they’d barely glimpsed. Of Cardinal rebels executed where they stood. Of Jaeger’s assassins falling before they could reach their targets.

  But worse, infinitely worse, was the image of Lira in her father’s hands if they failed. Callum’s fist clenched at his side, knuckles white with strain. Maximus wouldn’t simply kill his daughter if he discovered her betrayal. Death would be a mercy compared to what he would do. Callum had seen enough of the President’s handiwork to know that Maximus Serel’s creativity extended far beyond governance and into the realm of torture.

  He returned to his desk, dropping heavily into his chair. The screens before him showed various feeds from around the Heart—the plaza where the Vow ceremony would take place, the checkpoints between rings, the approach to Maximus’s tower. All quiet now. All normal.

  It wouldn’t last.

  His thoughts drifted back to Lira, to the weight of her in his arms just days ago. To the taste of her skin, the sound of her breath against his ear, the way her body had yielded to his after five long years of restraint. Five years of longing.

  He hadn’t seen her since the conclusion of their meeting in the Boundary forty-eight hours ago. Something in the way she’d looked at him when he took her back to her apartment, when she told him she needed space to think, scared him. He could feel it.

  He’d just gotten her back and he was already losing her.

  He’d known it was a possibility when she found out that he’d known about Brooker. He’d thought about leaving her in the Heart for that very reason. But they’d said no more lies, and he wasn’t willing to break his promise to her.

  If they failed today, Maximus would make her suffer in ways that would break even Lira’s iron will. He would take his time. Would extract every detail of the conspiracy before he finally allowed her to die. And he would make sure she watched everyone she loved die first.

  Callum’s breathing became shallow, his chest tightening with every breath. He forced himself to inhale deeply, to regain control. Panic would not help any of them.

  He needed to focus. Needed to be the calculating, ruthless man who’d built an empire in the Heart, who’d infiltrated its highest circles, who’d learned to smile while plotting the downfall of those who trusted him.

  His phone vibrated against the desk, screen illuminating with Jameson’s encrypted contact ID. Callum’s hand shot out, snatching it up on the first ring.

  He answered. “Ghost.”

  “It’s done.” Jameson’s voice was calm, controlled, but Callum could hear the undercurrent of tension.

  Relief washed through him. “All of them?”

  “Every last one. We cleared the final sector twenty minutes ago. The shelters are sealed.”

  Callum closed his eyes briefly. At least the Boundary would be protected from whatever came next. If Maximus deployed his bombs today, they would fall on empty streets, not innocent people.

  “Any resistance?” he asked, knowing that convincing some Boundary residents to trust authority figures enough to enter underground shelters would have been nearly impossible.

  A pause. “Minimal. Daggermouths handled it.”

  “Good. I’ll turn on the surveillance loop for the Boundary now. You are clear to head into Cardinal.”

  “I’ll call you back when we’re headed for the Heart.”

  The line went dead.

  Callum set the tablet down, the weight of what they were about to do settling over him and pressing down on his lungs. Nine hours. Nine hours until the Vow ceremony began. Fifteen hours until they either liberated New Found Haven or condemned it to unparalleled bloodshed.