“Who did you think was smuggling contraband into the rings with a Serel serial number?” he asked, his voice laced with dark amusement. “The medicine for your clinics, the vaccines for the children, the antibiotics that keep your people alive—where did you think they came from?”
Shadera’s eyes widened at the revelation, her body tensing, oxygen catching in her lungs. His words echoed in her head and suddenly became clear.
‘There are things I can do from this position that I couldn’t do from a grave.’
All this time. All this time he had been working both sides of the conflict, had been helping the rings.
Her mind began to spiral as she frantically put together the pieces, replayed everything he had ever said to her, everything she’d ever seen him do.
“You’re lying,” Jameson said, but there was uncertainty in his voice now.
“Am I?” Greyson countered. “The serial numbers all begin with SIG02. Serel Industries, my initial, second son. My personal division.”
Shadera watched Jameson’s posture shift as the truth sank in. She could almost see his mind racing as fast as hers, recalculating risks, reassessing the man before him.
“If you want that medicine to continue flowing into the rings,” Greyson continued, “you will leave now, without Shadera. According to Jaeger’s timeline, you have twenty minutes to get out of the Heart alive. I suggest you get moving.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Shadera looked between the two men, her mind reeling. If what Greyson said was true, if he’d been sending medicine to the rings all this time, then he wasn’t entirely the monster Jameson believed him to be, that she’d believed him to be. But he was still the Executioner. Still Maximus’s son.
“I’m staying,” she said finally, making the decision for Jameson so he wouldn’t feel the guilt of choosing the rings over her. He would choose them, she knew that. Knew that at the end of the day, no matter how much he cared for her, he would not risk thousands of innocents just to keep her alive, now that he knew the consequences. “We can’t risk the rings getting bombed. They need the medicine. I’ll find another way out.”
“With him?” Jameson asked incredulously. “With the fucking Executioner?”
Shadera glanced at Greyson, studying the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he stood perfectly still, waiting for her response. She turned back to Jameson.
“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steadier than she felt. “You might not understand this or believe me because you haven’t seen the things I’ve seen. But we are both trapped in this. Greyson and I have to find a way out of this together if we want to save the most lives.”
Jameson was silent for a long moment, his face twisting with emotion. The clenched jaw, the furrow between his brows, the mix of anger and fear in his eyes. She knew his face better than she knew her own.
“Get out,” Jameson said finally, turning to Greyson. “I need a minute with her. Alone.”
Greyson’s posture stiffened. “Fuck no. I will—”
“Please,” Shadera interrupted, looking directly at him. “I won’t leave, but I need to say goodbye.”
She watched the internal struggle play out in Greyson’s body language—the tension in his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head as he considered. Finally, he nodded once, sharply.
“Three minutes,” he conceded, moving toward the door. “Then I’m coming back in, whether you’re done or not.”
Jameson watched Greyson exit before turning back to Shadera. For a moment, they stood frozen in the blue tinged light, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them like a physical force. Shadera could see the raw emotion he let bleed free now—anger, fear, pain.
In one movement he closed the distance between them, reaching for her mask.
His fingers found the edges of the skull, gently lifting it from her face. The air felt cold against her skin, vulnerable and exposed after days beneath it. Jameson’s eyes roamed her features hungrily, as if searching for changes, for signs the Heart had already begun to transform her.
He moved to kiss her, his body leaning forward with the momentum of need, of desperation, of all the nights they’d spent apart. But Shadera backed away, her hand coming up between them, palm flat against his chest. A barrier. A denial.
The hurt that flashed across his face was immediate and visceral, a wound opening before her eyes. His arms that had begun to reach for her, stilled in the air.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shadera swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
How could she explain what she didn’t understand herself? The knot of confusion and fear and something else that had been growing inside her since she’d entered the Heart. Since she’d seen beneath Greyson’s mask, touched his scars, witnessed his struggle against his father’s legacy and brutality.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, the lie sour on her tongue. “But you need to go. We don’t have time for this. You need to get out of the Heart before they realize you’re here.”
His eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming more searching, more penetrating. She’d never been able to hide from him, not really. He knew her too well, could read the truth in the tension of her body, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
