“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-two3 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.”