Greyson felt as though he’d been plunged into ice water. He tried to twist in his chair, tried to look at Shadera through the cell wall at his back, but the bindings only cut deeper as they held him in place.

“No,” he whispered, the word barely audible. “No, that’s not—she said she didn’t.”

“And you were dumb enough to believe her?” Maximus snapped, making his way back to his chair and sitting. “I framed him as a Heart informant,” he continued. “Made him appear to be betraying the very rebels he was working with. Made his death seem like rebel justice rather than a father’s punishment.” A soft laugh. “The contract specified to leave his body in the center of the Heart, to make it messy. A fabricated warning to Heart citizens who might consider crossing into the rings. Your Daggermouth performed admirably.”

Greyson couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Shadera had killed Brooker. Shadera had executed his brother, had carried out his father’s twisted punishment.

She’d lied to him.

“You’re lying,” he said again, but the words were hollow now, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this was not the truth.

It couldn’t be the truth.

“Ask her,” Maximus suggested, gesturing toward Shadera’s cell. “Ask her if she remembers the feel of her blade across his throat, of his blood warming her hands.”

He didn’t bother trying to look at her this time. Couldn’t bring himself to try. “I-is it true? Did you do it?”

There was silence for a long moment. Then she answered.

“I didn’t know, Greyson.” The words cracked on his name. Her voice, usually so strong, so defiant, had been reduced to a thready whisper. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

Something shattered inside Greyson.

A small, choked sound escaped him. The absurdity of it all. The perfect, twisted symmetry. His father’s ultimate manipulation.

“There it is,” Maximus said softly. “The truth. The woman you love, murdered the person you loved most in this world.”

Love.

The word ignited rage in his chest. Greyson couldn’t love her. Couldn’t give form to the feeling that had been growing in his chest, taking root in the very core of him. Not now, not in the face of this betrayal, this devastation. Not after this.

Maximus leaned forward, brushing dirt off his pants as if he had not just placed a grenade between Greyson’s rib cage. “Of course, Brooker’s death was merely the beginning. I had planned similar fates for both of you.”

The words penetrated the pain collecting in Greyson’s soul, pulling him back from the edge of complete collapse. “What are you talking about?”

“Surely you’ve realized by now,” Maximus continued. “The contract on your life. The assassin sent to kill you.”

A growl vibrated through Greyson’s throat, but he bit it back. His mind returning to logic as it always did when feeling became unbearable. His father was talking openly, was sharing secrets. Whatever he said, he could use. He needed to keep him talking.

“I had hoped for her to do a better job,” Maximus said, running his fingers over the mask in his lap. “First Brooker’s death at the hands of a Daggermouth, then yours—a devastating tragedy for the Heart, proof that the rings had become ungovernable.” A pause. “The perfect justification for what comes next.”

“The Culling,” Greyson breathed, horror dawning as the pieces started falling into place. “You planned to use our deaths to justify mass murder.”

Maximus waved a dismissive hand. “Population adjustment—”

“They’re people,” Shadera cut in, her voice laced with poison. “Not statistics. Not equations to balance.”

“They’re vermin,” Maximus countered, not bothering to look at her. “Parasites draining the Heart’s resources, contributing nothing of value. Better to clear them out, make room for those who deserve the protection of our city.”

“Make room for what?” Greyson demanded, a new suspicion forming.

Maximus met his eyes, and a sickening smile twisted onto his face. “For the future. City-states to the north are failing. Their elites—people of culture, education, wealth—need somewhere to go. New Found Haven has the infrastructure, the security. All it lacks is . . . space.”

The full depravity of his father’s plan ossified in Greyson’s mind.

“You’re insane,” Greyson whispered.

“I’m pragmatic,” Maximus corrected. “The world is changing, son. Those who adapt will survive. Those who cling to outdated notions of equality will perish.” He paused. “The old ways, the old power structures . . . they’re crumbling. And it’s up to us, the strong, the worthy, to shape what rises from the ashes.”

“At what cost?” Shadera’s voice cut through the tension between father and son. “How many lives are you willing to sacrifice for your utopia?”

Maximus turned to her, his posture straightening into something threatening. “At every cost,” he said simply. “Whatever is necessary to ensure the Heart’s survival.”

He stood, straightening his dark blue suit.

“The Vow ceremony will proceed as planned. You will both cooperate fully. You will present yourselves as the perfect symbol of unity between Heart and Boundary and use your voices to convince those loyal to the Heart to come forward, to be spared. And in exchange, I will consider modifying my plans. Perhaps sparing key sectors of the rings.” He placed his mask back over his face and turned away from them. “Resist, and I will ensure you watch thousands die before I kill you both. The bombs are ready, the targets selected. One word from me, and the Boundary burns.”

With those words hanging in the air, Maximus signaled to the guards. They fell into formation around him as he exited, the heavy door closing behind them with a final, echoing thud.

Silence descended over the cells, broken only by the ragged sound of Shadera’s breathing. Greyson sat motionless, staring at the concrete floor where his blood had pooled beneath his chair then dried. His mind was a hurricane, each emotion crashing against the others, leaving him numb in their wake.

His father had paid for Brooker’s contract and Shadera had been the one to carry it out. The knowledge sat in his chest like a stone, crushing his lungs, his heart.

“Greyson.” Shadera’s voice reached him through the glass. “Greyson, please—”

“Stop,” Greyson said, the word barely audible.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t hear her voice. He couldn’t stand the sound of it. The pain it held, the lies it told.

“I need you to understand—”

“Please.” His voice was shattering now, that grenade Maximus had planted in his chest finally detonating. “Please just stop.”

Chapter thirtyThose Two Things

Lira sat across the table from her brother. Her dead brother. Her mind refused to process what her eyes were seeing.

Brooker. Alive. Breathing.

The world around her seemed to blur at the edges, the voices planning at the table becoming distant and muffled as if she were underwater. Her brother, whom she’d mourned, whose absence had torn a hole in her family, sat there with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. The same smile he’d worn when they were children and he’d successfully pulled a prank. Only this wasn’t a childish trick—this was an earthquake shattering the foundation of everything she thought she knew.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe as he shifted in his chair, leaning back casually like he hadn’t just been resurrected. Callum’s hand tightened around hers beneath the table, his thumb stroking reassuringly across her knuckles, but even that familiar touch couldn’t anchor her to reality.

Brooker’s hair was longer now, dark strands falling to his shoulders, the length something their father would never have permitted. A thin scar bisected his right eye and brow, puckering the skin in a way that made his face seem sharper, more severe. But it was his eyes that had changed the most—those blue Serel eyes that now held shadows she couldn’t begin to fathom.