“Mine,” Callum spoke before Greyson could answer. “We needed information. About your father’s plans.”

Greyson’s head turned toward Callum, the motion sharp and sudden. “Speaking of plans,” he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, “when were you going to tell me you’ve been helping the rebellion?”

The question hung in the air between them, years of friendship suddenly caught in their secrets. Callum didn’t immediately answer, weighing his response carefully. The truth was, he’d never planned to tell Greyson. Not because he didn’t trust him, but because knowledge was dangerous in the Heart. What Greyson didn’t know, he couldn’t betray—willingly or otherwise.

“That’s fucking rich coming from you,” Shadera cut in, a harsh laugh escaping her.

Lira turned toward her. “What does that mean?”

Shadera glanced at Greyson, and he stilled. The silence that followed felt weighted, a physical presence pressing against Callum’s chest. He looked between them, sensing some unspoken knowledge passed in that shared glance.

“Don’t,” Greyson said finally, his voice low.

Shadera’s laugh this time was bitter, cutting. “How can anyone ever trust you when you don’t even trust each other?” She stood, pacing the length of the living room with restless energy. “All of you—elite of the Heart, Veyra, children of privilege—keeping secrets from each other like it’s your fucking job.”

“Shadera,” Greyson warned, but she ignored him.

“Your brother,” she continued, turning to face Lira and pointing toward Greyson, “has been smuggling goods into the rings. Medicine. Food. Supplies. All under your nose—your father’s nose.”

Callum felt as the floor dropped out beneath him. His eyes snapped to Greyson, searching for confirmation or denial. His face revealed nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

“Is that true?” Callum asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

Greyson nodded once, a short, sharp motion. “Yes.”

Something warm and unexpected flared in Callum’s chest—pride, he realized. Pride in his friend who had found the courage to act, to resist. All this time, while Callum had been running his operations, Greyson had been fighting his own silent battle.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Callum asked, leaning forward. “I could’ve helped. We could’ve coordinated our efforts.”

“The same reason you didn’t tell me about your activities,” Greyson replied. “The fewer people who knew, the safer the operation.”

Lira stood suddenly, her movements jerky as she took off her mask to reveal the emotion flooding her face. “Both of you,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “Both of you have been risking your lives, committing treason, and neither of you thought to trust me with the truth?” She turned to Greyson. “I’m your sister. I would have helped you. Protected you.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Greyson replied, a hint of gentleness entering his voice. “The Veyra watch you closely because of your position, your access to media and public perception. If you’d been caught helping me—”

“But you didn’t even trust me with the truth.” Lira’s voice sharpened. “Even if you didn’t let me help, you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

“It wasn’t about trust,” Greyson insisted, falling onto the couch next to where Shadera had sat again. “It was about safety. The fewer people involved, the fewer deaths when our father eventually discovers what I’ve been doing.”

Callum watched the siblings, feeling a familiar ache in his chest. How many times had he wanted to tell Lira the truth about his own activities? But he’d kept silent for the same reason Greyson had—to protect her, to keep her untainted by the violence and betrayal that had become his life.

“We should get back to our guest,” Callum said, attempting to diffuse the tension. “Officer Webb might have more information we can use.”

Lira went completely still, her body freezing mid-motion. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice suddenly hollow.

Callum’s brow furrowed, sitting up straighter at the edge in her voice. “We should question the officer again—”

“His name,” Lira interrupted. “What’s his name?”

Something in her tone sent a chill down Callum’s spine. “Webb,” he repeated. “Veyra Officer Marcus Webb.”

Lira stayed silent for a long moment, her breathing becoming shallow and quick. When she spoke again, her voice was so calm, it felt violent. “Give me your gun, Cal.”

The request stopped him, and for a moment he simply stared at her. “What?”

“Your gun,” she repeated, extending her hand. “Give it to me.”

Callum didn’t hesitate at her request as he withdrew his gun from the holster on his shoulder and placed it in Lira’s outstretched hand. Her fingers closed around the weapon with surprising familiarity.

The Lira he knew was not the woman standing in front of him.

“Lira,” Greyson began, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she turned and walked toward the weapons room.

The three of them remained frozen in the living room, an unspoken agreement keeping them seated as Lira disappeared through the doorway. Callum’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

Marcus’s voice rose in panic from the other room. “Wait—please—I know you—I didn’t want to—they made me—”

His pleas were cut short by a single gunshot. The sound cracked through the apartment like thunder, followed by a silence more absolute than any Callum had ever experienced.

Greyson rose from his seat, but before he could move toward the weapons room, Lira reappeared in the doorway. Blood spattered her face and the front of her dress, bright crimson against pale blue. Her hand, still holding the gun, hung limp at her side.

She crossed the room with measured steps and returned the weapon to Callum. He took it automatically, his mind struggling to reconcile what had just happened.

“Why?” he asked, unable to form a more coherent question.

Lira stared at him, her eyes hollow and distant. “He was one of them,” she said, her voice flat. “One of the ones my father gave me to when I was fourteen.”

The words took a moment to penetrate. When they did, he felt as the air was sucked from his lungs. Greyson had gone completely rigid, the rage in his body palpable without a single movement.

“What are you talking about?” Greyson asked, his voice barely audible.

Lira turned to her brother, something breaking in her posture. “You never wondered why I was so obedient? Why I never questioned Father’s orders the way you or Brooker did?” She laughed, the sound empty of humor. “He needed the Veyra’s loyalty. Needed to ensure they would follow him without question. So he gave them something valuable. Me.”

Callum felt bile rise in his throat. The President had traded his own daughter’s body to secure the loyalty of his officers. Had allowed them to rape her, to use her for his own agenda.

“How many?” Callum managed, the words scraping his throat raw.

“Eleven,” Lira answered, her voice steady despite the horror of her revelation. “Eleven officers over three months, before Mother found out and put a stop to it.” She looked at Greyson. “She threatened to kill herself if he continued. It was the only time I ever saw her stand up to him, and the President couldn’t have the stain of a weak wife on his reputation.”

Greyson took a step toward his sister, hands reaching for her, but she backed away.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t touch me. Not now.”

Shadera’s hand shot up at the despair in her voice. Lira’s fingers clung to her, wrapping around Shadera’s so tight Callum could see her knuckles blanching. Slowly Shadera stood, stepping in front of Lira, and began wiping the blood from her face with her free hand. When she finished she grabbed Lira’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.