“By torturing a Veyra officer in my brother’s apartment?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.
“Li,” Greyson began, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“Don’t ‘Li’ me,” she snapped. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been . . .” She gestured at the scene before her, apparently unable to find words adequate to describe what she was seeing.
Callum felt something crack inside him. The careful wall he’d built between his life as Callum Thane, charming owner of Heart entertainment venues, and his other life—the one filled with blood and information and desperate measures—was crumbling before his eyes. And with it, any hope that Lira could see him as anything but the monster he truly was.
The weight of her gaze burned through him as he wiped his hands on a cloth, the blood smearing rather than cleaning, a fitting metaphor for the moment. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the wet, labored breathing of the Veyra officer strapped to the chair.
“We should move to the living room,” Callum suggested, his voice unnaturally calm. He glanced at Greyson, seeking some confirmation, some direction. Greyson only nodded.
“What about him?” Shadera asked, gesturing toward the bloodied officer with a tilt of her head.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Greyson replied, his tone flat.
Lira flinched at the words, her shoulders drawing tight beneath her elegant dress. She stepped back from the doorway, allowing them to file past her. Callum moved last, pausing beside her with words of explanation or comfort ready on his tongue. But when he met her eyes through the openings in her mask, the words died. There was no explanation he could offer that would erase what she’d seen, no comfort that wouldn’t sound like a lie.
The living room still bore the marks of violence. Though the bodies were now gone, the furniture placed upright and glass swept up, his cleaning crew still worked methodically, removing bloodstains from every surface. One worker was carefully replacing a shattered mirror, while another scrubbed at dark patches on the kitchen floor. They studiously avoided looking at the four of them as they entered the room, their training ensuring that nothing they witnessed would ever be repeated outside these walls.
Callum sank into an armchair, suddenly aware of the dried blood flaking from his clothes, his hands, beneath his fingernails. Lira chose the farthest seat from him, perching on the edge of a sofa as if ready to flee at any moment. Greyson remained standing, his posture stiff, while Shadera claimed a spot on the arm of a chair next to Greyson, her body language suggesting casual indifference despite the tension filling the room.
“There were Veyra officers in the apartment last night,” Greyson began without preamble, his voice controlled. “We dealt with them. The one we are interrogating, Callum found surveilling us on his way here to help clean up the mess.”
Callum watched as Lira’s posture shifted in understanding.
“And the torture?” Lira asked, turning back to her brother. “Was that your idea?”
“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’schest. 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—yourfather’snose.”
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.”
