Maximus shifted forward, elbows on the desk.

“I have built this—” A small wave of his hand took in his office, the city, the world outside. “—not by being loved, but by being inevitable. Do you understand what that means?”

Greyson looked at his father, at the way the age in his face seemed like just another weapon, another calculated effect. “Yes, sir. I do.”

Maximus studied him for a long moment, searching the blue eyes looking back at him from under the onyx mask. “You flinched at your duty today with your hesitation. Not much, but enough.”

He picked up a report from the desk, letting his gaze roam over it, then tapped the corner. “There are rumors. Some Veyra officers question your priorities. Some say you are . . . distracted.” He set the paper down. “Distraction is a form of disloyalty.”

Greyson felt the knot of anger twist inside him, but he kept his expression blank. It was moments like these he was thankful he never relieved himself of his mask in his father’s presence.

“You are thirty-three years of age now, son. It is time you start taking your responsibility seriously. Your mother has paired you with a match, the Daunt family’s daughter, Moraine. You will complete your Vow ceremony in five days.”

There it was, the punishment.

Greyson had only met this woman once, and she was as loyal to the Heart as the President himself. If Maximus wanted to snuff out any doubt of his son’s loyalties, there was no better pairing than to do just that.

Greyson would’ve rather taken a beating.

“Father, I can’t—” Greyson started in protest, but was silenced with a stare sharp enough to kill. He nodded his head reluctantly. “Understood.”

Maximus dipped his chin, satisfied. He picked up the gold mask, turned it in his hands, then met his son’s eyes.

“There is no place for hesitation in this family, Greyson. Or in this city. If you doubt yourself, you are already lost. If you doubt me—”

He did not finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Greyson stood, bowing his head. “I will begin my preparations for the ceremony.”

Maximus dismissed him with a wave.

Greyson left the room with the same silent steps, but this time the cold in his stomach radiated outward, into his chest, his hands, his breath. The echo of his father’s warning ran through him, steady as the electricity humming through the Heart.

There is no place for hesitation.

Chapter twoThe Boundary

Shadera Kael shouldered into Wolf’s Head like a bullet entering bone. The neon script and skull motif above the door spat a red and violet haze, scattering color over a room packed with Daggermouth mercenaries who would kill for less than a full day’s ration.

Shadera blinked past the stinging light, let her vision settle into the shadows, and read the crowd the way a butcher might inspect the next carcass—efficient, unsentimental, already hungry for the cut.

It wasn’t the worst den in the Boundary, not by a long shot, but it stank of iron, old sweat, and the sweetly synthetic tang of antifreeze. The walls were poured concrete scored with graffiti and scars, posters for dead uprisings and missing rebels fluttering above chipped tables.

The main event tonight, as every night, was the slow consumption of chemical despair, poured by the glass, in a dozen brands of Shadera’s favorite bottom-shelf poison.

Liquor.

The regulars tracked her approach. A few nodded, some looked away, and a handful braced for violence. Word of her return ran ahead of her boots, a nervous twitch running through the Daggermouth ranks. She’d broken her last assignment in half—literally—a Cardinal ring snitch. The cleanup crew was still scraping bits of them out of the storm drains.

She moved past the battered pool table where two wiry teens played for credits, one of them cradling a splinted hand, the other sporting a swollen black eye. Shadera passed by the half-circle bar, returning the old bartender’s offer of a smile, and threaded toward the back wall where the real authority lurked.

Jaeger Nolin, the Wolf.

Daggermouth guild master.

He sat alone at a corner table under a sickly pink corona of cheap LED, left hand curled around a chipped glass, right one palming a dull coin he flipped and caught with impossible rhythm. Even in shadow, his eyes tracked everything—his people, the doors, the angles of approach.

Most thought there was no warmth in him, not for his mercenaries, not for anyone. But Shadera knew better. She’d seen his heart, seen the way he took care of the Boundary and its people, seen him take orphans off the street and care for them.

She’d been one of those orphans.

She stopped in front of him and he flashed a thin smile.

“Kael.” His voice was coarse but never raised, a low predator’s rumble. “Take a seat. You look like shit.”

She slid into the chair opposite him, leather jacket creaking as she lifted a sculpted brow. “You always say that. I’m starting to get offended.”

He grunted, nodding for the bartender who appeared and set four clear shots on the table in front of Shadera then vanished back into the crowd.

“Heard you finished the Dunmore contract early. Nice work.”

“Guy had it coming. He really thought no one would find out he was helping the fucking Heart.” Shadera inspected her nails, flecked with black paint and old blood. “You got another?”

Jaeger reached into his coat. The movement was casual, deliberate, no threat implied—but every Daggermouth in the room tensed except for her. No, instead she reached for the shot glasses in front of her, swallowing the liquid down without flinching, one after the other. She dropped the last glass on the table and placed it on its side. A signal she was ready for another round.

His hand came back with a thick envelope, wax-sealed and ringed with the Heart’s crimson insignia. He slid it across the battered table, never breaking eye contact.

She broke the seal.

The inside was lined with a thin, scan-resistant mesh, an extra precaution taken only by buyers who resided in the Heart, to make sure the contract made it past the ring checkpoints. She let the envelope fall open, and began to read.

Shadera’s eyes widened, darting from the paper to Jaeger and back to the contract. “Is this a fucking joke? This has to be a setup.”

Jaeger grinned across the table. “Vetted it myself. I assure you, this contract is as real as they come.”

She snorted. “It says the target is Greyson Serel. The Greyson Serel. This’ll start a war.”

Jaeger shrugged, taking a sip of his drink as Shadera looked back down at the contract.

“What’s the price?” she asked.

“Enough to pay off this whole joint for the foreseeable future, and feed every family in the Boundary camps for a year.” Shadera choked on the gasp that flung itself out of her lungs as Jaeger tossed the coin once, let it spin on the table until it slowed, then snatched it up again. “You up for it?”

“Of course I’m fucking up for it.” She scanned the brief, already memorizing the information supplied. “You want the mask or the corpse?”

Jaeger leaned in, the table creaking under his weight. His burn-scarred throat flexed as he swallowed the rest of his drink. “The mask, too dangerous to try and sneak that corpse into the Boundary.”

At the next table, a brawny Daggermouth grinned, showing gold-capped teeth. “You mess it up, Shade, I’ll take the job off your hands. Bet I can get to the little heirling first.” He leaned back, boot propped on the bench. “Hell, I’ll even split the payout if you’re lucky.”

Shadera didn’t bother with a reply. She simply reached into her sleeve, thumbed the edge of her blade, and flicked it across the gap between the tables. The knife bit into the meat of the Daggermouth’s shoulder as he slammed against the wall at his back. Blood ran quick and dark, painting the wood beneath him.