Wolf’s Head rose from the Boundary like a tumor. Jameson hated this place. Nothing good happened inside its walls. This was Daggermouth territory, where Jaeger reigned and contracts were handed out like communion wafers.

The door groaned as Jameson pushed it open, the neon lights momentarily blinding him as he searched the concrete space for his target.

He counted seventeen mercenaries as he entered—six at the bar, another eight scattered at tables throughout the room, three more playing cards in the corner. Each one registered his presence with subtle shifts in posture. Hands moving closer to weapons, eyes tracking his movement, conversations dying mid-sentence. They recognized him as an outsider, not one of their own despite his years moving between the Boundary’s underworld players and Jaeger’s failed efforts to recruit him.

They knew better than to lay a finger on him. He was protected by Shade, and that meant he was protected by the Wolf himself.

Jaeger sat at his usual table in the back, partially hidden in shadow. The king of the Boundary looked precisely as he always did—weathered but unbent, his eyes catching the light like polished bullets. A silver coin danced between his fingers, flipping from knuckle to knuckle in an endless rhythm.

Jameson strode directly to him, ignoring the Daggermouths who watched his purposeful approach. Without a word, he dumped the broken remains of the drones onto the table with a crash that silenced the room entirely.

Jaeger didn’t flinch. His eyes flicked from the mangled technology to Jameson’s face, then back to the drones. The coin continued its dance across his fingers.

“Something’s wrong,” Jameson stated, his voice sharp and tinged with accusation. “I’ve never been followed this close. Where the hell is Shade, Jaeger?”

Jaeger’s expression remained placid, revealing nothing. His gaze fixed on the Serel insignia visible on one of the drone fragments, studying it.

If Jaeger was worried, he didn’t let Jameson see it.

The silence between them sharpened. Across the room, a woman with scars crisscrossing her face slowly set down her glass, her other hand sliding beneath the table to rest on what Jameson knew would be a gun. Two men by the window shifted their weight, moving to angles better suited for clear shots if needed.

Jaeger raised his free hand, a minimal gesture that instantly relaxed the room. The scattered Daggermouths returned to their liquor and conversation without another glance at Jameson.

The bartender appeared at Jameson’s side, with a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. Jaeger grunted his approval as the bartender set them on the table and retreated.

Still silent, Jaeger finally pocketed his coin and unscrewed the bottle, pouring two fingers of whiskey into each glass. He pushed one toward Jameson and nodded his silent command.

Jameson didn’t sit, but he took the glass, recognizing the ritual. In the Boundary, in the Wolf’s Head, information had a price. Sometimes that price was sharing poison before secrets were spilled. He threw back the whiskey in one smooth motion, feeling it burn down his throat. Across from him, Jaeger did the same.

Only then did Jaeger speak, his voice low and graveled with age and authority. “She failed.”

Two words.

Two simple and devastating words.

Jameson’s hand tightened around the empty glass, his knuckles whitening.

“Three days ago,” Jaeger continued, setting his glass down and tracing the rim with his middle finger. “She managed to find the Executioner and put a bullet in him, but not a fatal one. We thought she was dead after that. The Heart doesn’t typically leave Daggermouths breathing.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath Jameson’s feet. Shadera didn’t fail. Not her. Not ever. And especially not with Greyson Serel, the target she’d been obsessing over for years.

“This morning,” Jaeger started again, refilling both glasses, “one of our informants in the Veyra sent word. Shade was taken to the prison beneath Haven Tower.”

Jameson sat then, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight. The chair creaked beneath him as he leaned forward, true panic beginning to radiate outward from his gut.

“And?”

Jaeger’s eyes finally met his, something like respect flickering in their depths as the corners of his lips crooked slightly up. “She started a fucking revolution from inside her cell.”

He took the second shot of whiskey, then rolled the glass in a circle around the bottom edge. “The informant said she was being removed from her cell when the prisoners found out what she had done. They started singing.”

“Singing?” Jameson’s brows furrowed.

“The old anthem. The one that’s been outlawed since the rise of New Found Haven. They sang it for her. That act marked Kael as their symbol, their fucking martyr.” Jaeger’s voice remained level, but something akin to dark amusement crept into his tone at the idea of Shadera being anyone’s savior. “The Veyra open fired. Killed most of them. But the damage was done. Word is spreading through the city, trickling down from the Heart into the Cardinal and Boundary already.”

Jameson’s mind raced, piecing together the information, the implication of it all. The drones tracking him. The prison massacre. Shadera captive.

Shadera captive.

His throat felt like it was swelling at the thought, his heart convulsing. His hands that were always steady, that never trembled, began to shake. He clenched his fists, swallowing back the panic, and forced himself to focus.

“We received confirmation an hour ago that she’s still alive, for now. But past that, we don’t know what they intend to do with her,” Jaeger finished, pouring a third shot for each of them.

“Execution,” Jameson said immediately, the word tasting of bile. “They will hold an execution only for her, to send a message.”

Jaeger shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. If they wanted her dead, she’d be dead already. Maximus isn’t known for his patience with Daggermouths, especially ones who target his family. No, he wants something from her. Or is planning to use her somehow.”

Jameson knocked back the third shot without waiting for Jaeger, his thoughts spiraling, each one more terrible than the last. Torture. Interrogation. Public humiliation before death.

“They’re tracking me,” he said, gesturing to the broken drones. “High-level surveillance, military grade. Not standard Veyra protocol.”

Jaeger’s expression hardened. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“The night she left for the Heart.” Jameson’s jaw tightened as the memory of her walking away flashed behind his eyes. “I went to her warehouse before she left."

“Did she tell you anything? About the approach, the exit strategy?”

“No,” Jameson answered quietly, the sound of the word defeated.

Jaeger studied him, his eyes knowing just where to look, how to see what emotion was raging inside of Jameson without saying a word. Those eyes missed nothing.

“She cares about you, more than she should. More than she will ever admit. That makes you valuable to them, if they know about your connection.”

Jameson tilted his head. “You think they’re using me to control her?”

“I think Maximus Serel didn’t survive this long by leaving tools unused,” Jaeger replied. “If he knows about you, he’ll use you. One way or another.”

Jameson hadn’t even considered his own life in this scenario, at the possibility that it was now in danger. He thought of the clinic, how the drones had found him there. How many others had they been watching? How many of Shadera’s connections had they already uncovered? Was it just him?

“Kael just became the face of the revolution to the rings because of what those prisoners did,” Jaeger said, his voice cutting through Jameson’s thoughts. His gaze turned to the mercenaries around the room, many of whom were listening intently now. The crowd had already doubled since Jameson entered Wolf’s Head, and they were all watching him.