White.

  The mark of purity required for the Vow. The purity that would be stripped from every woman who ever took it just moments later.

  Lira didn’t have to wait for a Vow ceremony for her father to rip everything from her. She’d only had to wait fourteen years for that.

  She swallowed hard, never taking her eyes from her father’s as she reached up and removed her mask. It slipped from her fingers, falling to the platform with a ringing sound that was beautiful in its pitch.

  Then, slowly, she heard it, the gasps that began to flow from the crowd.

  Gasps turned to murmurs, and murmurs swelled into a growing wave of sound as women throughout the plaza began to move. One by one at first, then in clusters.

  They shed their dresses. Expensive gowns fell to the ground, revealing white slips beneath. Their hands reached up, fingers finding the edges of their masks, sealing their fates as they showed their faces.

  Lira’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched her own rebellion unfold. She’d planted the seeds days ago, whispered truths in the right ears, passed messages through networks of women who had suffered in silence for generations. But seeing it now—this mass defiance—stole her breath.

  Soon the plaza was filled with the musical clatter of metal hitting stone as women revealed their faces to the world. Some were scarred—burns, cuts, deliberate disfigurements hidden for years behind clothing, behind masks. Others bore bruises, fresh evidence of what happened behind closed doors in the Heart’s glimmering towers.

  Her father’s body went rigid as he turned to see the severity of her actions. She could feel his rage radiating like heat, the golden mask no longer able to hide the monster beneath.

  “What have you done?” he hissed, not caring who could hear it.

  Lira lifted her chin, rolling her shoulders back as she took two steps forward and looked directly into the eye of the media drone.

  “We are the Heart. We are its power. And we are taking it back.”

  Her words rippled through the crowd. Women who’d spent their lives as decorations, as possessions, as silent witnesses to atrocity, lifted their faces to the sky. Their expressions ranged from terror to exhilaration, but in each face, Lira saw the same thing.

  Freedom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE THIS IS WHAT HOPE DOES

  CALLUM’S WORLD COLLAPSED IN front of his eyes.

  Lira had just signed her own execution order.

  Maximus would kill her for this. Not quickly, not cleanly. He would make an example out of her, his own daughter.

  There was no hesitation as Callum started running. He was out of his office and down the stairs before he could even think about the others. All that mattered was Lira.

  He had to get to Lira.

  He punched in numbers on his tablet as he sprinted out of his club and onto the empty streets.

  First Farrow. No answer. He tried again. No answer.

  Second Jameson. He would answer. He had to answer, he had only been floors beneath him waiting for the signal. No answer.

  No fucking answer.

  He tried Jaeger next. The line connected this time. But there was nothing. Nothing but static spewed into his year.

  “Fuck.” The word dragged from his lungs as he rounded a corner two blocks away from the checkpoint of the entertainment sector.

  He dialed Brooker. No one answered.

  His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat as his feet pounded against the pavement. He had to get to her. He had to stop Maximus before he got his hands on her. Had to get her out.

  He forced himself to slow as he reached the checkpoint, panting as he approached the guards.

  “I need to pass,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “Immediately.”

  The officer tilted his head slightly. “I’m sorry, sir. The plaza is under lockdown. President’s orders. No one in or out.”

  “I’m Callum Thane.” He injected authority into his voice. “My clearance supersedes any lockdown.”

  “Not this one, sir.” The officer’s posture shifted subtly, hand moving closer to his weapon. “President Serel was explicitly clear. No exceptions.”

  Something inside Callum cracked—a thin fissure in the dam holding back his fear, his rage, his desperation.

  “You don’t understand. I need to get through. Now.”

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back and return to your residence.” The officer’s hand now rested openly on his holster. “The situation at the plaza is being contained.”

  Contained.

  The word echoed in Callum’s mind, conjuring images of blood and pain and Lira’s broken body.

  “Please,” Callum said, and he didn’t recognize his own voice—stripped of pride, of pretense, raw with a desperation he’d never allowed himself to show. “Please, I need to get to her.”

  The officer’s voice hardened as a second officer appeared behind him. “Step back, sir. Final warning.”

  He was going to lose her.

  Something inside him shattered.

  His fist connected with the officer’s helmet before either of them realized he’d moved. The impact sent pain shooting up his arm, but he barely felt it through the roar of blood in his ears. The officer staggered back, stunned by the unexpected attack, and Callum used the moment to snatch the gun from his holster.

  The second officer reached for his weapon, but Callum was faster. The sound of the shot cracked through the streets, echoing off glass and metal. The officer dropped, his lifeless body pouring blood from the bullet through his skull.

  Callum turned the gun on the first officer.

  “Let me pass,” Callum demanded, voice steady in a way that terrified some distant part of himself.

  The officer hesitated. Callum shifted the barrel, firing a shot that grazed the man’s ear. Not enough to cripple, enough to prove his intent.

  “Next one won’t miss,” he promised.

  Slowly, the man reached for the card hanging at his belt. He unclipped it, then backed toward the checkpoint barrier. Callum watched as he slid the card into the reader, then punched in a code and scanned his palm. A light began to flash green as the electric field disengaged with a soft hum.

  Callum wouldn’t take any chances.

  He pulled the trigger and the officer crumpled to the ground as he broke into a run and passed over the barrier.

  The twin towers in the center of the plaza rose into the sky. He was so close now. Just two more blocks. Just two more blocks and he would reach her.

  Shouts erupted behind him—reinforcements arriving, alerted by the gunshots. He didn’t look back, couldn’t afford to waste the seconds. His lungs burned, muscles screaming as he pushed himself harder, faster.

  He had to get to her. He would do anything to get to her.

  * * *

  MAXIMUS’S MASK CAUGHT THE sun as he turned toward Lira, each movement controlled, deliberate, a predator calculating the kill. Shadera recognized that stillness. Had embodied it herself before taking a life. And though her body screamed with pain from a hundred injuries, though her broken ribs threatened to pierce her lungs with each breath, she moved.

  Her hand found the slit in her dress, fingers wrapping around the gun strapped to the top of her thigh. The metal was warm from her body heat, familiar and comforting in her grip as she slid it free. Every movement sent fresh fire racing through her torso, but she kept her face blank, refusing to reveal pain.

  Three steps brought her between Maximus and Lira. Her arm extended, the barrel of her gun aimed directly at the golden mask. Steady. Perfect. Even broken, she was the best the Daggermouths had.

  “Not another step,” she said, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent platform. The medicine dulled her pain, but sharpened her focus, narrowing her world to this moment, this confrontation.

  Maximus’s eyes locked on her.

  His head tilted slightly, as if amused by her defiance.

  “You would threaten me?” His voice carried the confidence of a man who had never faced consequences. “In my Heart? Surrounded by Veyra?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation. No fear. Only certainty.

  Greyson appeared at her side, his own gun drawn, aimed at his father’s head. The tension in his body matched her own—coiled, ready to spring. She didn’t need to look at him to feel his presence, to know they were perfectly aligned in this moment.

  “It’s over, Father,” Greyson said. “Your Heart is broken.”

  Movement flickered at the edge of Shadera’s vision.

  A Veyra officer shifting his weight, hand dropping to his weapon. She tracked him without moving her gun from Maximus, calculating angles, timing, priorities.

  One bullet for Maximus, then pivot to the officer, but that would leave Greyson exposed to—

  The shot cracked through the air before she could move.

  The Veyra officer dropped a neat hole through his faceplate, body crumpling then rolling off the platform’s polished surface. Shadera’s gaze snapped to the source as horrified gasps rippled through their audience.

  Captain Mikel stepped forward from his line of men at the back of the platform, his weapon shifting targets to Maximus’s head.

  “Traitor,” he hissed at Mikel, the word dripping with venom.

  Shadera’s fingers tightened on her gun, the weight of it reassuring despite the tremor spreading through her muscles. Three guns now pointed at Maximus.

  The air between them seemed to crystallize, tension drawing it taut, ready to shatter at the slightest movement. Shadera’s heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a fresh burst of pain. She could feel blood seeping through the open wounds beneath her dress, warm and sticky against her skin.

  Maximus tilted his head, then he laughed. The sound was hollow, echoing strangely behind his mask, a sound devoid of mirth or humanity.

  “Do you think you’ve won?” he asked, his voice almost conversational now. “Do you think this is it? The great revolution? The downfall of the Heart?”

  He took a step forward, seemingly unconcerned by the weapons trained on him. Shadera’s finger twitched on the trigger, but she held her fire. Something in his confidence made her hesitate.

  Maximus turned toward Lira, his eyes fixing on her bare face. “I must admit, daughter, I’m impressed. This—” He gestured toward the scattered masks on the platform, the unmasked women below. “—this I didn’t anticipate. The only move you have made that I did not see coming.”

  His words sent a chill through Shadera’s spine.

  What other moves?

  “In fact,” Maximus continued, his voice swelling with perverse pride, “I’m proud of you. The only one who managed to do something under my nose.”

  Shadera saw the slight stiffening of Mikel’s back, the shudder in Lira’s chest.

  They knew something.

  “Did you truly think I wouldn’t know about your plans? Did you think you were so clever hiding the rings underground, thinking it would save them from my bombs?”

  Shadera’s heart seized.

  It wasn’t just Lira who’d acted, Jameson had to be a part of this if the Boundary is underground.

  “While everyone focused on this spectacle,” Maximus said, spreading his arms to encompass the ceremony, the platform, “my loyal Veyra were busy elsewhere. They hacked into Callum’s system using the same techniques he’s so proud of. Fed him false footage while we moved undetected throughout the city.”

  Her hand tightened on the gun.

  “The rebels in the Entertainment District?” Maximus continued, his voice almost gleeful now. “Detained. It was bloody, I’ll admit. Messy. But we managed to keep some of them alive. For questioning. For examples.”

  Greyson’s face had gone pale, and Shadera realized he had been left in the dark like her.

  “The Daggermouths?” Maximus chuckled, turning his masked face toward Shadera now. “They were rounded up like rats in a trap.”

  Each word was a knife to her flesh, splitting through skin and twisting.

  “And Jaeger Nolin, the Wolf,” Maximus said, seeming to savor the name. “Your leader. Your father figure. I have something special planned for him. Something that will make what you endured in that cell seem like a lover’s caress.”

  No. No, no, no.

  Shadera’s vision blurred, her heart convulsing as its rate quickened.

  Not Jaeger. He wasn’t supposed to leave the Boundary. He was never supposed to leave.

  “Kestrel Farrow,” Maximus continued, his voice softening in a way that made Shadera’s skin crawl. “Oh, she is exquisite, isn’t she? Such fire. Such intelligence. It would be a pity to waste her. No, I think I’ll keep that one. Find uses for her talents. After I break her, of course.”

  Maximus paused for only a breath. Letting his words settle, ferment.

  “And Callum.” Maximus turned back to Lira, whose face had gone ghostly pale. “Your lover.” Greyson tensed beside her. “Your co-conspirator. I’ll take my time with him. Perhaps I’ll even let you watch as I peel him apart, layer by layer. As I extract every secret, every plan, every thought he ever had about you.”

  Shadera watched the gears turning in Lira’s mind, watched as she decided how to respond. Choosing between begging for his life and not giving her father the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

  She chose the latter and when she spoke, her voice was steady, cold as steel.

  “And Brooker?” she asked. “What are you going to do to him this time?”

  * * *

  GREYSON’S VISION BLURRED, THE gun in his hand suddenly leaden.

  “What?” he breathed, the question directed at Lira, whose face remained resolute despite the pallor that had crept beneath her skin.

  It wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be possible.

  Maximus laughed, the sound grating against Greyson’s eardrums like metal on glass. His father’s amusement, his casual dismissal of the pain he’d inflicted, ignited fury in Greyson’s chest.

  “Surprised, son?” Maximus asked, his voice pitched to carry across the platform. “You shouldn’t be. Death has always been… negotiable in our family, as you know well.”

  Something in Maximus’s words made the Veyra surrounding them hold their guns higher. Veyra loyal to Maximus formed a perimeter, weapons raised, while those who had sided with Mikel stood their ground, creating a protective formation around Greyson, Shadera, Lira, and Elara. Outnumbered at least three to one, but unwavering.

  The tension in the air was a physical thing now, pressing against Greyson’s skin, filling his lungs with each labored breath. A single wrong move, a twitch of a finger, and the platform would erupt in blood and bullets.

  Maximus raised his hands, the gesture almost benedictory as he addressed the scattered crowd below. “Citizens of the Heart,” he called, his amplified voice booming across the plaza. “Return to your homes immediately.”

  The crowd hesitated, uncertainty rippling through the gathered masses. Some began to retreat, filtering toward the exits, while others remained rooted in place, eyes fixed on the drama unfolding above them.

  “Now,” Maximus added, the single word carrying the full weight of his authority.

  The exodus quickened, people streaming toward the exits in growing numbers, desperate to escape whatever violence they sensed was imminent. But not everyone fled. The women who had removed their masks—hundreds of them—stood firm, forming a defiant knot at the base of the platform.

  Maximus observed them with an air of detached amusement.

  “Interesting,” he murmured, just loud enough for those on the platform to hear. “Your little rebellion has more backbone than I anticipated, Lira.”

  He signaled to a squad of Veyra, who moved immediately toward the women. “Deal with them,” he ordered. “I’ll address their… disobedience later.”

  The Veyra swarmed around the unmasked women, herding them together like livestock. Some went quietly. Others fought, their resistance quickly subdued with practiced brutality. Greyson forced himself to watch, to bear witness to the courage they showed, to memorize each face, each act of defiance.

  Maximus waited for the plaza to empty before he turned his attention back to them, and allowed a light chuckle to slip over his lips.

  “What does she mean about Brooker?” Greyson growled toward his father.

  “My poor son,” he said, locking his eyes on Greyson. “This is what hope does to you. What love does to you.” He shook his head in disappointment. “It makes you naive. It makes you dull and blind and weak.”

  Greyson’s finger tensed on the trigger, the urge to end this—to put a bullet through the golden mask and whatever twisted expression lay beneath it—nearly overwhelming. But something held him back. The need to know. To understand.

  “Your brother is indeed alive,” Maximus continued, his voice almost gentle now, as if explaining a difficult concept to a child. “And he’s played you beautifully. Played all of you, really.”

  “No,” Greyson said, the denial automatic, instinctive. “Brooker wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t what?” Maximus interrupted. “Wouldn’t serve his father? Wouldn’t protect the Heart? Wouldn’t do his duty?” A harsh laugh escaped him. “You never did understand your brother, Greyson. Never saw his true nature beneath that facade of compassion.”

  From the corner of his eye, Greyson saw Lira’s sharp intake of breath, saw Mikel straighten as if struck. Their reactions made no sense.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, looking between them. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “So many secrets,” Maximus said, enjoying his confusion. “So many lies. It must be exhausting trying to keep them all straight.”

  He took a step closer, unconcerned by the weapons still trained on him.

  “I had such fun toying with you, breaking you,” he continued. “And it was so easy once you thought the Daggermouth killed your brother.” He gestured toward Shadera. “I did not have to tell you anything about Brooker, could have waited until you figured it out on your own, but I enjoyed watching you crumble. Watching you try to reconcile your feelings for the Boundary trash with the idea that she killed your hero.” Maximus shrugged. “It was a test of trust, I suppose, and you passed. You still trusted me, even after every lie I have ever told you. You trusted that I was telling you the truth.”