People walked with unhurried steps, their faces hidden behind masks of varying designs, though none as provocative as hers. They wore clothes all similar to each other—elegant, understated, expensive. From a distance, they looked like figures in a simulation rather than real people. Perfect and empty.

“After tonight’s dinner,” Greyson said suddenly, breaking the silence, “we should discuss what Lira mentioned.”

Shadera turned back to him. “About what to expect?”

He nodded, his gloved fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knee. “There are aspects of Heart society, of the Vow ceremony you should be prepared for. Things that will be expected of you. Things you’ll see that . . .” He trailed off, jaw working beneath his mask. “Things that will be difficult . . . shocking for someone not raised here.”

Something in his tone made her study him more carefully. The rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hand had curled into a fist on his thigh, the slight increase in his breathing rate. Signs she’d been trained to read in targets before the kill—signs of fear, of distress.

“You don’t want to go to this dinner. You’re worried about it,” she realized aloud.

His head snapped toward her. “What makes you say that?”

“Your body is screaming it.” She gestured to his tense posture. “I’ve been reading people’s fear my entire life. It’s coming off you in waves.”

For a moment, she thought he might deny it, might retreat behind the cold facade he usually maintained. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping a fraction.

“I don’t,” he admitted, the words so quiet she almost didn’t catch them. “But the consequences of not going aren’t worth it.”

The admission shifted something between them—a crack in the perfect Executioner’s armor, a glimpse of the man beneath the monster. Shadera found herself wondering, not for the first time, who Greyson Serel might have been if he hadn’t been born into this family, if he hadn’t been shaped by the Heart’s poison.

“What happens at these dinners?” she asked, genuine curiosity replacing the tactical assessment she’d been conducting.

Greyson looked away, staring at the city passing outside the window. “Nothing good.”

The car slowed as they approached a checkpoint—the first of many, she guessed, based on the military presence ahead. Guards with pulse rifles stood at attention, their own masks more utilitarian than decorative.

“For now,” Greyson continued, straightening as they pulled to a stop, “remember that you’re no longer just Shadera Kael, a Daggermouth from the Boundary. As far as anyone knows, you’re my fiancée. My chosen partner. Try to act accordingly.”

“You want me to simper and hang on your every word?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

He actually chuckled at that, a small quirk of his lips visible at the corners of his eyes. “I’d like to see you try. No, just . . . don’t threaten to kill anyone in public. That should be sufficient.”

Despite herself, Shadera felt an answering smile tug at her lips. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

A guard approached their window, and Greyson rolled it down with a touch to a panel beside him. The guard’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Shadera’s mask but recovered quickly.

“Identification, sir?”

Greyson handed over a sleek black card. “Greyson Serel. Security clearance alpha-nine. And my fiancée, Shadera Kael. She’s been cleared by the patriarch himself.”

The guard scanned the card, then nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. We received the notification. You’re clear to proceed.”

Shadera’s brow furrowed as the window rolled up. “Maximus would never give me access to the Veyra base.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Greyson tilted his head, a smile in his voice. “But Callum would.”

As they drove through the gate, Shadera found herself studying Greyson again. There was more to him that she was starting to see—layers beneath the Executioner, the son, the Heart elite. A complexity she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge because it was easier to hate a simple monster than a complicated man.

“What?” he asked, apparently noticing her scrutiny.

“Nothing,” she replied, turning back to the window. “Just thinking that maybe we’re both prisoners here, in different ways.”

He didn’t answer, but she felt his gaze linger on her profile for a long moment before he too turned to look out at the Heart—the beautiful cage that held them both.

The car swept through three more checkpoints, each more heavily fortified than the last. At each stop, Greyson’s name opened gates like magic—no questions, no delays, no searches, just immediate compliance.

Power. This was what real power looked like, Shadera realized. Not the brutal strength she’d known in the Boundary, but this frictionless movement through a world designed to serve you.

The streets grew wider as they approached the military district. Buildings became more utilitarian, less ostentatious, though still bearing the Heart’s signature glass and platinum aesthetic. Veyra in black uniforms patrolled in precise formations, weapons visible but not drawn. A show of force, carefully choreographed to appear both casual and overwhelming.

Greyson pointed toward a massive complex surrounded by high walls. “The trading base. We maintain trade relations with the three other city-states there.”

Shadera absorbed this information, filing it away. Jameson had suspected other cities survived the collapse, but confirmation was valuable.

“What do you trade?” she asked, cataloging every detail—the number of Veyra per rotation, the access points that might be exploitable.

“Technology mostly, each city-state manages its own resources.” His voice took on a lecturing quality, as if reciting from a textbook. “New Found Haven is the largest of the three and its agricultural production is sufficient for our population, assuming proper rationing.”

“Proper rationing,” she repeated flatly. “Is that what you call starvation?”

“No. That’s what my father calls efficient resource management.”

The distinction was subtle but clear. Not we. He never said we when he spoke of the Heart, it was always ‘my father’. Shadera filed this away too, unsure what to make of it.

The car continued past the weapons manufacturing facilities, enormous complexes that hummed with activity even visible from the street. Workers moved with purpose, their masks marking them as Cardinal residents permitted temporary access to the Heart for labor. Greyson provided details about production capacity, distribution protocols, security measures—all information that would be invaluable to the resistance. She wondered if he realized what he was giving her, or if he believed her so thoroughly trapped that such knowledge posed no threat.

“The agricultural sector,” Greyson announced as they approached a series of massive glass domes that rose like bubbles from the immaculate Heart landscape.

Shadera’s breath caught in her throat.

“Stop the car.” The words came out almost frantic before she had a chance to steady her voice.

Chapman glanced in the rearview mirror, seeking confirmation from Greyson, who nodded once. The car slowed, pulling into a private entrance that bypassed the main security gate. The vehicle glided through a decontamination chamber, then emerged inside the perimeter of the first dome. Shadera stared at the abundance behind the glass, feeling something hollow open in her chest.

She had heard of these, of course. Everyone in the Boundary knew of the farming domes. But seeing them was different from hearing rumors. The sheer scale was overwhelming—acres of protected cropland, gleaming in the sun.

“Would you like to see inside?” Greyson asked softly.

Shadera nodded immediately.

She hadn’t noticed that Chapman had exited the car until her door swung open, the climate-controlled air hitting her skin with a pleasant warmth that reminded her of stories she’d been told about the world before—before the collapse, before New Found Haven, before everything went wrong. The scent was what struck her next—clean soil, growing things, a sweetness she couldn’t identify.