“President,” Mikel acknowledged with a crisp nod.

Maximus moved to his desk, settling into the leather chair with a soft sigh. The exertions of the last twelve hours had been more taxing than expected. Age was beginning to make itself known in small ways—the ache in his knees from standing, the fatigue that came quicker than it once had. But his mind remained sharp, his will unbending.

“Report,” he commanded, reaching for the tablet that held the night’s intelligence summaries.

“The Executioner and the Daggermouth returned to his residence without incident. They appeared to go separate ways once they entered the residence. The scheduled executions for this morning went smoothly with no interruptions or hesitations.”

Maximus nodded once.

“Ms. Serel was taken to Callum Thane’s residence last night,” Mikel continued. “She remains there as of the last report.”

Greyson choosing to send his sister to the Broker rather than keeping her close was an interesting development. He had never sent her away.

“Double the surveillance on my son’s residence,” Maximus instructed, pulling up the security grid on his tablet. “I want constant monitoring of both of them. Audio, visual, thermal. Full spectrum.”

“Sir, the surveillance in that unit has been experiencing technical difficulties—”

“Then fix it.” The words came out sharp, edged with threat. “I don’t care if you have to replace every camera and microphone in the building. I want eyes on them at all times.”

Mikel inclined his head, making notes on his own device. “Should I assign a physical surveillance team as well?”

“Discrete ones. Nothing that would alert them to our interest.” Maximus leaned back, fingers steepled as he considered the broader implications. “My son is more compromised than I thought. That woman’s influence is . . . concerning.”

That was an understatement. Last night had shown him how far Greyson had fallen, how deeply the corruption had taken root. Standing against his father, stepping in line of punishment, sending away his sister rather than maintaining family unity. Each action pointed toward a dangerous independence that couldn’t be tolerated.

“There’s also the matter of the Vow ceremony,” Mikel ventured. “Security arrangements need to be finalized with it being broadcast.”

“Triple the usual contingent,” Maximus decided. “And I want marksmen positioned at all elevated points. If the woman attempts anything during the ceremony, or anyone makes an attempt to intervene . . .”

“Understood, sir. Lethal force authorized?”

“No,” Maximus answered immediately. “For anyone else, yes. But not for her. This public ceremony is to show the rings that the Heart can unify even the worst of them. We cannot risk her execution by us being broadcast.”

The captain made another note, his efficiency a pleasant contrast to Maximus’s useless offspring. This was how things should function—clear hierarchies, immediate obedience, no emotional pollution clouding judgment.

“I’ll be leaving for the military base in the next few hours and will be unavailable until tomorrow morning,” he informed Mikel, already rising from his chair. “There are matters there that require my personal attention. You have your orders. Do not disappoint me.”

“Never, sir.”

Maximus left his study, his mind already shifting to the next challenge. The military base held other concerns—whispers of dissent among the younger officers, questions about what weapons they were building there and how they would be used that bordered on insubordination. These too would require correction, though a different sort than what he’d administered in the room below his feet.

The Heart demanded order. Order demanded control. And control, ultimately, demanded the willingness to apply whatever force was necessary to maintain it.

Chapter twenty-twoEverything’s Personal

Jameson’s boots made no sound as he navigated the service corridor, each step prepared for the possibility of discovery. The air reeked of industrial lubricant and burned wiring even through the bandana—the Cardinal ring’s signature scent. He’d shed his usual tactical gear for nondescript work clothes, the kind that made eyes slide past him without registering his presence.

Cardinal’s rebel headquarters was nestled between a drone repair shop and an abandoned textile factory, its entrance concealed behind a malfunctioning waste disposal unit. Jameson pulled down the brim of his hat, tugging his hood further over his head as he approached. Three surveillance cameras were on this block—two Heart-issued models mounted on nearby buildings and a smaller, custom unit hidden in the drainage pipe above. He signaled his arrival with three fingers against his chest. Two long taps followed by a single short one.

The door opened inward, revealing darkness broken only by the faint glow of equipment monitors. Jameson slipped inside, his hand automatically reaching for the gun concealed at his lower back.

“You weren’t followed?” A voice materialized from the shadows before its owner did.

“I know how to move through this city,” Jameson replied, his eyes adjusting to the low light. “Even with your ring’s increased surveillance.”

Kestrel Farrow emerged from the darkness as she pushed off the doorframe beside them and lit a cigarette. Her frame had thinned since he’d last seen her, cheekbones more pronounced, the shadows beneath her eyes deeper. Cardinal ring was taking its toll on even its most resilient daughter.

“Follow me,” Kestrel said, jerking her head to the side as she turned away and led him deeper into the room.

The space was organized clutter—communication equipment stacked alongside ration containers, weapon parts disassembled on a workbench, encrypted tablets charging in a row. Through the grimy window, the garish glow of holo-ads on the billboards painted everything in shifting blues and reds, casting Farrow’s face in alternating hues that made her appear both ghostly and fevered.

She pushed open the door to her makeshift office with the bottom of her boot and gestured for him to sit as she sunk into her chair on the other side of a rusted metal desk and took a long drag.

“Tell me what’s happening in Cardinal,” he said, taking the seat she indicated and repositioning it with clear sightlines to her and the exit. Old habits never truly died and he knew better than to underestimate her.

She rocked back in her chair as she lifted her feet to the desk and sighed. “Maximus is dividing us. Methodically, deliberately.” Farrow’s expression shifted, something dark moving behind her eyes. “The Heart’s tightening the noose. New policies rolled out three days ago. Any Cardinal worker who meets production quotas gets extra water and food rations. Those who report suspicious activity get double.”

“Turning them against each other.”

“It’s working.” She pulled a small tablet from her pocket, sliding it across the table. The screen flickered to life, showing grainy security footage. “But that’s not the worst of it.”

Jameson watched as ten figures were dragged into frame, their Cardinal uniforms torn, faces bloodied. The agricultural dome’s viewing area stretched behind them—that pristine window into abundance that mocked everything the outer rings endured. The Veyra worked with efficiency, stringing that red rope over the support beams.

“They were caught trying to smuggle seeds,” Farrow said, her voice flat. “Not even food. Just seeds. The potential for food.”

“Fucking tyrant,” he muttered under his breath as the footage continued. Jameson’s jaw clenched as the workers were hauled upward, feet kicking, hands clawing at the ropes around their necks.

“They left them there for five days,” Farrow continued. “Made every shift watch them rot while they worked. Ten Cardinal citizens, strung up like a warning. My people, Ghost. My people.”