Confusion rippled through her father’s stance, a momentary hesitation that would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him as she did. He turned, his movement unnaturally stiff, to face the altar.

Maximus froze.

Lira watched the shock move through him like electricity, his body going rigid as stone. The golden mask hid his expression, but she could read the disbelief in every line of his posture, in the slight tremor that ran through his hands.

Greyson and Shadera stood side by side, fingers still intertwined, faces bare to the world.

No masks.

No veils.

Shadera’s shawl slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her feet as a note slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the ground at Maximus’s feet.

He bent to retrieve it, movements mechanical, as if his body were functioning on instinct while his mind struggled to process the betrayal.

Lira watched as he read her handwriting. Her command. Her rebellion.

Leave them off.

His head lifted slowly, the golden mask turning toward her, gaze finding her face across the platform.

In that moment, with her father’s eyes locked on hers, Lira felt a lifetime of fear fall away. Fear of his disapproval. Fear of his anger. Fear of his punishment. All of it dissolving like mist under the rising sun.

She’d spent her life as his perfect daughter. His diplomat. His puppet. Moving when he pulled the strings, speaking the words he put in her mouth. She’d smiled through her mask as he built his empire on the broken bodies of the rings.

No more.

She held his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to bend.

For the first time in her life, she faced her father not as his daughter, but as his enemy.

The silence in the plaza stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. The media drones hovered, capturing every moment of this unprecedented breach of Heart law.

Slowly, Lira’s hand raised, finding the zipper on the front of her dress, and pulled it down. The sound of it sliding over teeth was the loudest thing she ever heard. She shrugged out of it, letting it pool at her feet, letting it reveal the white slip underneath.

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-nineThis 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.