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.
“Good for you.” Shadera’s voice was sharp, strong. “He deserved that bullet, and I promise to help you do whatever you need to put one in the other ten.”
Callum sat frozen, unable to process the magnitude of what he’d just learned. All these years, he’d thought he was protecting Lira. All these years, he’d believed she needed sheltering from the ugly realities of the Heart’s power structure. But she’d already seen it, knew better than he ever would just how cruel it could be. And all this time, she’d been carrying this burden alone, this unimaginable trauma inflicted by her own father.
Rage scorched a fiery path through Callum’s chest, a living thing with claws that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. He thought of the officer’s blood spilling across the weapons room floor, of the single gunshot that had ended his life, and felt only satisfaction that Lira had been the one to pull the trigger. It was a small justice, inadequate against the enormity of the crime, but it was something.
His eyes met Lira’s across the room, and in that moment, he made a silent vow to destroy the entire rotting edifice of the Heart’s government. To tear it down stone by stone until nothing remained of Maximus Serel’s legacy but ashes.
Greysonstoodinthecenter of his living room, blood singing through his veins like static in his ears as he watched Shadera speak to his sister. But he couldn’t hear her words, couldn’t hear anything over the fury consuming his mind. Lira’s words hung in the air like poison, seeping into every corner of the room, changing everything.
His father had sold Lira.Sold her.
He’s going to fucking burn for this.
The logical part of his brain took over, shoving emotion aside on instinct like it always had. A symptom of surviving a monster.
“We need to lay everything on the table,” he said, his voice rough and distant to his own ears. “No more secrets between us. No more protecting each other through silence.” He looked at each of them in turn—Callum, still seated with the gun in his hand. Shadera, watching him with those piercing green eyes. Lira, blood spattered and hollow eyed but standing tall. “If we have any chance against my father, we need complete honesty. Complete trust.”
The words felt strange on his tongue. Trust was a luxury in New Found Haven, a commodity rarer and more precious than anything in the Heart. For years, he had operated on the assumption that isolation was safety, that sharing his plans would only create vulnerabilities. Now, with the knowledge of what his father was planning—with the sound of his sister’s voice describing the horrors she’d lived with in secret—he realized that isolation had only ever served Maximus’s interests.
“That’s a nice idea,” Shadera started, breaking the silence that followed his declaration. She fell back onto the couch, arms crossed over her chest. “But maybe this apartment, where we just murdered eight Veyra officers for surveilling us, isn’t the smartest location.”
“She’s right,” Callum said, finally holstering the gun and dragging a hand down his face. “My place, then,” he suggested, rising from his chair. “Tonight. I have security measures that even your father’s tech can’t penetrate.”
Greyson nodded, his expression softening as he turned to Lira. “Are you okay to join us tonight? We could use your expertise with media and public perception.”
“I’ll be there,” she said simply. “I know things about his inner circle that might help us.” She paused, her voice dropping lower. “And I want to be part of ending him.”
The venom in her tone made Greyson’s hair stand on edge. Lira—the voice of reason for the Serel family—had been replaced with someone harder, someone forged in pain and long buried rage. He wondered how much of the sister he thought he knew had been a carefully curated facade, a survival mechanism in a household ruled by cruelty.
“What about her?” Callum asked, nodding toward Shadera. “Can she risk leaving the apartment again after your little murder spree?”
Greyson and Shadera answered at once.
“Oh, I am fucking coming.”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
The memory of her near escape was still raw, still burning at the edges of his consciousness. “Where I go, she goes.”
Callum rose, straightening his bloodstained clothes as best he could. “I’ll have my men finish cleaning here,” he said, gesturing to the lingering evidence of violence. “The bodies will never be found.”
“Thank you,” Greyson said, the words inadequate for what he truly felt. Gratitude, yes, but also a profound relief at no longer carrying his secrets alone.
As Callum moved toward the door, a sharp knock froze them all in place. The sound echoed through the apartment, three precise raps against wood that carried the unmistakable authority of Veyra command. Greyson’s eyes met Callum’s across the room, a silent message passing between them—danger.
“Masks,” Greyson hissed, already reaching for his own. The others moved quickly, replacing their masks with practiced efficiency. Shadera’s fingers brushed against his as he handed hers to her, the brief contact sending an unwelcome spark through his nervous system.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. Greyson drew a deep breath, forcing his features into the expressionless mask of the Executioner even before the physical mask settled over his face. He nodded to the others, who positioned themselves strategically around the room—Callum by the kitchen island, hand resting casually near his concealed weapon. Lira beside the window, adopting a posture of aristocratic indifference. Shadera just behind him, a deadly shadow.
Greyson opened the door, body angled to block as much of the apartment from view as possible. Captain Mikel stood in the hallway, his Veyra uniform pristine, his helmet snug over his head. Even covered, Greyson could feel his stare assessing his bare torso, head tilting to peer over his shoulder at the others in the room.
“Executioner,” Mikel said, his tone formal but with an undercurrent of tension Greyson had never heard before. “I hope I’m not interrupting a social gathering.”
