This wasn’t an interrogation. It was a message. A promise of the suffering to come, meted out not for information, but for the sheer vicious thrill of it.
Her vision focused as she spit blood onto the floor, raising her head as far as she could to see Maximus standing on the other side of the glass, staring into the two cells, surveying her battered form like a craftsman admiring his handiwork.
And to her horror, some part of her felt relief at the sight of him. Relief that his presence meant a respite, however brief, from the brutality. Relief that maybe, just maybe, he would end this, if only so he could be the one to begin it again.
Self loathing rose like bile in her throat. Was this what it took to break her, to make her grateful for the crumbs of mercy from a monster’s table? Is this how Greyson had felt, all those years under his father’s thumb, enduring who knew what degradations and disfigurements?
She thought of Lira, of the confessions torn from her throat in that shattered apartment. The abuses she’d suffered, the wounds she’d hidden, all in the name of survival in this gilded cage of a city.
And for the first time, Shadera truly recognized it. Recognized the impossible choices they’d faced, the parts of themselves they’d had to carve away to endure the unendurable. Maximus hadn’t just broken their bodies. He’d broken their spirits, their wills, their very sense of self.
No one survived the Heart unscathed. Not the princess in her tower, not the Executioner on his platform, and not the assassin in her cage. They were all casualties of this man’s cruelty, this man’s megalomania.
But as Maximus’s gaze dragged from Greyson’s cell and met hers through the glass, as cold and pitiless as the eyes of a shark, Shadera felt something kindling in her chest. Not hope, not defiance . . . but understanding. The kind of understanding that could bleed into empathy, into solidarity against a common enemy.
They’d all done what was necessary to survive Maximus’s rule. Now, maybe, they could do what was necessary to end it. If they lived long enough. Ifshelived long enough.
Maximus stepped closer to the glass, his masked face cocked in a parody of concern. She stared back at him, pouring every ounce of hate, of defiance, she could muster into her swollen eyes. “Fuck. You.”
ThesoundofShadera’swords sent relief washing through Greyson’s body. His father laughed at the hate in her tone, at the defiance she still held even after taking his beatings.
His father nodded to one of the Veyra and they appeared in front of the glass with a chair for him. He sat, leaning back as his gaze roamed over the two of them.
Greyson stared at him, hate burning in his eyes. Blood dripped steadily from his wrists now, the restraints cutting through skin and muscle beneath. He barely felt it.
“How dramatic you have become,” Maximus started. “Threats against my men? Declarations of vengeance?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I thought I raised you better than that.”
“You raised me to be exactly what I am,” Greyson replied, his voice dangerously quiet. “Remember that when I put a bullet in your head.”
Maximus ignored the threat.
“Did you truly believe your rebel activities would go unnoticed?” he asked, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather over breakfast. “The medical supplies? The credits passed to the rings?” He tilted his head, the golden mask catching the light. “Did you think me blind or merely stupid?”
Greyson’s jaw clenched, his throat tightening at the revelation. He remained silent, refusing to rise to the bait, to give his father the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Your silence is pointless,” Maximus continued, removing his mask and placing it gently on his lap. “I’ve known for months. Tracked every shipment.” He sighed, the sound hollow. “Just as I knew about Brooker.”
The name sent a shock through Greyson’s system. He had nothing to do with this, with Greyson’s choice to help the rebellion.
“What?” The word was a growl leaving his lips.
Maximus folded his hands in his lap. “Your brother was also a traitor. Did you know that?” He shook his head, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “Of course you didn’t. He was more careful than you.” Something like pride crept into his voice. “More clever. More patient. Until he made his fatal mistake.”
“You’re lying,” Greyson said, but doubt had already taken root.
Brooker had always been secretive, always kept parts of himself hidden, even from him. There’d always been something about his brother, some core of defiance that even Maximus’s cruelest lessons couldn’t quite extinguish.
“Am I?” Maximus asked softly. “Why would I lie when the truth is so much more . . .instructive?”
He stood, moving closer to Greyson’s cell. “Brooker lived a double life in Cardinal for years unmasked. Used an alias, called himself Levi Pierce. Smuggled prisoners out of Heart detention. Diverted resourcesto the rings.” A pause, heavy with meaning. “And he fell in love with a Cardinal whore.”
Greyson’s breath caught in his throat. This couldn’t be true. Brooker, the perfect son, the dutiful Executioner—a rebel? A traitor to the Heart? And yet . . . it made a terrible kind of sense. Explained his brother’s growing distance in those final months, the strange comments that Greyson had dismissed. The unexplained absences, the odd hours he’d keep. The way he’d sometimes look at Greyson, an apology in his gaze, a sorrow he’d never quite understood.
“You’re saying he was like me?” Greyson finally asked.
“Worse,” Maximus replied. “You merely smuggle supplies. Your brother actually achieved something. He was orchestrating a full-scale uprising. Gathering information for a coup.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t allow that, of course. But neither could I risk the public shame of unmasking, of execution on the platform from my eldest son’s betrayal.”
Cold realization washed over Greyson. “You had him killed.”
