In this moment, he realized that he trusted her. Not with his life, but with his sister’s. He knew somehow that she’d seen the violence of men, and she would protect Lira just as he would.

“If you walk out that door,” Maximus said, his voice like ice, “there will be consequences.”

Greyson turned back to look at him, at the man who had shaped his life through fear and pain, who had molded him into a weapon.

“There always are,” he replied. “You will get your Vow. You will destroy my life and I can swallow that. But I will not hesitate to kill you if you ever lay a hand on Lira again.” He paused, knowing the threat would cost him. But instead of leaving it, instead of walking out the door with the damage that’d already been done, he smiled at his father.

“A Serel doesn’t hesitate, right, Dad?”

He turned then, ushering Shadera and Lira toward the exit, his hand at Lira’s back as Shadera supported her.

“This isn’t over, Greyson,” his father called after them. “It’s barely begun.”

Greyson didn’t look back, didn’t slow his pace as they left the dining room, the evidence of his father’s violence marked in blood on his shirt and bruises already forming on Lira’s throat. Behind them, he heard the sound of glass shattering against a wall, his father’s rage finding its target after they were beyond his reach.

He couldn’t save his mother, he knew that. Knew that she would never betray his father. That Maximus would have put a bullet in her head before she took a step out of that room. His soul cracked at the thought, at the knowledge that she would be the one to receive his fury with no way out.

The truth of Maximus’s final words settled in Greyson’s gut like lead.

‘This isn’t over.’

Whatever game his father was playing, whatever trap he was setting—this dinner had been just one move on a board much larger than Greyson could see.

They were all in danger.

He jabbed the button for his floor with more force than necessary, leaving a smear of crimson on the polished metal. The elevator doors slid closed, sealing them in silence broken only by Lira’s short, panicked breaths that Greyson recognized all too well—the aftermath of their father’s attention.

“Li.” He kept his voice steady, gentle in a way he reserved only for her. “Focus on my voice.”

Her eyes were wide behind her mask, pupils dilated. Her hand went to her throat where Maximus’s fingers had been.

“I can’t—” she gasped, the words fragmenting.

Lira’s breathing quickened, each inhale shorter than the last, her body trembling visibly now. Panic attack. She’d had them since childhood, since the first time their father had shown his true nature in front of her.

Greyson moved toward her, but Shadera was faster, stepping in front of his sister. She placed her hands on Lira’s shoulders, her movements careful but decisive.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice gentler than Greyson had ever heard it. “Through the mask. Find my eyes.”

Lira’s head jerked up, her chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

“Good,” Shadera continued, reaching up to adjust Lira’s mask, straightening it softly. “Now breathe with me. In through your nose.” She demonstrated, her own chest rising with a deep inhale. “Out through your mouth.”

To Greyson’s amazement, Lira tried to follow, her breath still hitching but gradually slowing as she matched Shadera’s rhythm. Shadera continued the pattern, her attention fully focused on Lira, as if they were the only two people in the elevator.

“That’s it,” Shadera encouraged. “Again. In . . . and out.”

Greyson pulled his tablet from his jacket, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain lancing through his shoulder. He keyed in a secure code, bypassing the usual communication channels to connect directly to Chapman.

“Sir?” Chapman’s voice came through immediately, alert and concerned.

“We have a situation,” Greyson said, keeping his voice low. “Get to my floor. Immediately.”

He ended the call without waiting for a response, knowing Chapman would be there. The man had never failed him, not once in ten years of service.

Greyson turned back to the women, watching Shadera care for his sister as something shifted in his chest. The scene felt surreal, disconnected from the truth he thought he understood about Daggermouths.

They were supposed to be emotionless killers.

They weren’t supposed to care for other people, weren’t supposed to feel empathy, show kindness.

Pain pulsed from his shoulder, but he pushed it aside, compartmentalizing it as he’d been taught. Physical pain was the least of what his father had inflicted tonight. The bullet wound would heal. The sight of his father’s hand around Lira’s throat, of the gun aimed at his mother’s head—those wounds would fester like all the others, buried but never forgotten.

The elevator slowed, then stopped as rain began to drum against the glass box. Shadera’s gaze moved to the city beyond the window, cataloging, assessing, planning—Greyson could almost see the calculations behind her eyes.

The doors slid open to reveal Chapman standing at the threshold between doors, back straight, expression neutral despite the blood on Greyson’s suit, despite Lira’s obvious distress.

Shadera helped Lira to her feet as Chapman used his own key to unlock the door, stepping inside first to verify it was secure. He nodded once to Greyson before he ushered them inside.

“I need you to take Lira to Callum,” Greyson said to Chapman without preamble. “Tell him she doesn’t leave his side until I contact him. Not for any reason. Not for work, not for Father, not for anything. And use the service tunnels, not the main roads.”

Chapman nodded, already moving to retrieve a coat for her from the closet by the door.

“Grey—” Lira began, her voice still unsteady.

“Please.” He heard the desperation in his voice. “You’re not safe at home right now. Callum can protect you until we figure out our next move.”

“Then come with me,” she pressed. “If he can protect me then he can protect all of us.”

Greyson shook his head. “No one is safe around Shadera and me right now.” He placed his hand on her uninjured cheek, a rare gesture of physical affection. “I need to know you’re safe, Li. Please.”

“At least let me help you first,” she conceded, leaning into his palm as her eyes flicked to his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he lied, ignoring the hot blood spreading down his side beneath his jacket. “This isn’t the first time. I doubt it will be the last.”

Something about those words seemed to break her completely. She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that sent pain screaming through his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms tightly around her, cradling his little sister against his chest as her tears soaked through his shirt.

“I hate him,” she whispered against his chest. “I hate what he’s done to us. I want him to die.”

“I know.” He brushed a hand down the back of her head. “I know, Li. Go with Chapman. Stay with Callum. I’ll fix this.”

Another lie, perhaps. But one she needed to hear.

She pulled back, fingers brushing his injured shoulder with butterfly lightness. “Promise me you’ll take care of this,” she said, gesturing to the wound.

“I promise.”

Lira turned to Shadera then, the movement hesitant, uncertain. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For in the elevator.”

Shadera inclined her head. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Lira insisted. Then, more quietly, “Take care of him. At least for tonight, please keep him safe.”

Before Shadera could respond, Lira turned away, moving toward Chapman who waited in the entryway, his patience infinite, his discretion absolute. Greyson followed her toward the door, opening it and pressing the button to call the elevator, then pulled Chapman back a step.