“What do you want, Mikel?” Greyson asked, not bothering to mask the edge in his voice. He shifted his stance, further blocking Mikel’s view of the apartment’s wreckage—of the hallway leading to the weapons room where Marcus’s body still cooled.
“Your father sent me,” he replied, his tone sharp.
“I’m listening,” Greyson said, maintaining his position in the doorway as anxious frustration flared in his chest.
Mikel paused, his head tilting again, moving slowly as if he were making mental notes. Shadera stepped up beside Greyson, fully blocking Mikel’s view, and for the first time, Greyson was so fucking thankful for that woman.
When he spoke again, his voice had taken on an official cadence that suggested he was delivering rehearsed words.
“The President has ordered to see you and the Daggermouth in his Haven Tower offices immediately,” Mikel announced, each word precise and flat. “Alone.”
The demand percolated between them as Greyson forced his breathing to stay steady. Immediate summons to the President’s office always ended with a warning—a threat. Greyson felt Shadera move closer beside him, the heat of her body reaching out as if trying to calm him.
“What’s this regarding?” Greyson asked, buying time as his mind raced through possibilities, none of them good.
“He did not say,” Mikel replied, his face revealing nothing. “Only that your presence is required without delay.” He paused, then added with careful emphasis, “Both of you.”
Greyson felt rather than saw the tension ripple through Shadera’s body. This summons wasn’t a request. It was a command backed by the full authority of the Heart. Refusing wasn’t an option—not without triggering immediate suspicion, immediate response. Whatever his father wanted, they would have to face it directly.
“We’ll need a moment to prepare,” Greyson said, his voice calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind.
Mikel nodded once, sharply, then stepped back, allowing Greyson to close the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Greyson turned to face the others.
“This could be a trap,” Shadera said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.
Greyson turned to her, struck by the realization that she was afraid. Not for herself—he doubted she’d ever feared for her own life—but for what their discovery might mean for the rings, for the thousands whose lives hung in the balance of their ability to deceive his father.
“I know,” Greyson breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just get it over with.” He glanced to Callum. “Tonight. Your place. If for some reason we aren’t there, make a plan. Move forward with or without us.”
Chapter twenty-seven
It Did Not Make Me Weak
Shaderafelttheweightof Maximus Serel’s gaze through his mask as she and Greyson were ushered into the pristine office atop Haven Tower. The space breathed power—polished stone, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a God’s view of the city below. His city. His people. His property. She kept her spine straight despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs.
The President sat behind the desk, his golden mask catching the early afternoon light filtering through bulletproof glass. Even seated, even silent, he dominated the room like a predator surveying prey.
Mikel stepped out of the room as it closed behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing them in with the monster who ruled this city. Greyson’s body was a rigid line beside her, taut with a tension she could feel radiating from him in waves. She could sense the rage he struggled to contain with each measured breath as he stared at his father.
“Sit,” Maximus commanded, the single word vibrating with disdain.
Two chairs waited before the massive desk. Greyson moved first, placing himself slightly ahead of her, a subtle shield between her and his father. The gesture wasn’t lost on Maximus, whose head tilted a fraction.
As they sat, Greyson leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. A small gesture. A promise. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.
“I have been hearing whispers,” Maximus began, setting down a tablet he’d been examining when they entered. His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, which somehow made the hairs on the back of Shadera’s neck rise faster than any threat could have. “Whispers of late night activities that concern me.”
Neither responded. The silence stretched until it was something thin, fragile.
A chuckle leaked from behind the golden mask, the sound hollow and manufactured. “One of my Veyra units never reported back after their assignment last night. Eight officers, simply . . . disappeared.” His fingers drummed once against the desk. “Would either of you care to explain that?”
Shadera kept her expression neutral behind her mask, her eyes fixed on a point just above Maximus’s shoulder. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, wouldn’t betray the flash of memory—blood spattering across kitchen tiles, her finger squeezing a trigger, Greyson’s hands moving over her body.
Beside her, Greyson shifted forward, and she felt her breath catch. He was going to lie. He had to lie.
Please fucking lie.
“I killed them.”
