“Now,” Maximus added, the single word carrying the full weight of his authority.
The exodus quickened, people streaming toward the exits in growing numbers, desperate to escape whatever violence they sensed was imminent. But not everyone fled. The women who had removed their masks—hundreds of them—stood firm, forming a defiant knot at the base of the platform.
Maximus observed them with an air of detached amusement.
“Interesting,” he murmured, just loud enough for those on the platform to hear. “Your little rebellion has more backbone than I anticipated, Lira.”
He signaled to a squad of Veyra, who moved immediately toward the women. “Deal with them,” he ordered. “I’ll address their . . .disobediencelater.”
The Veyra swarmed around the unmasked women, herding them together like livestock. Some went quietly. Others fought, their resistance quickly subdued with practiced brutality. Greyson forced himself to watch, to bear witness to the courage they showed, to memorize each face, each act of defiance.
Maximus waited for the plaza to empty before he turned his attention back to them, and allowed a light chuckle to slip over his lips.
“What does she mean about Brooker?” Greyson growled toward his father.
“My poor son,” he said, locking his eyes on Greyson. “This is what hope does to you. What love does to you.” He shook his head in disappointment. “It makes you naive. It makes you dull and blind and weak.”
Greyson’s finger tensed on the trigger, the urge to end this—to put a bullet through the golden mask and whatever twisted expression lay beneath it—nearly overwhelming. But something held him back. The need to know. To understand.
“Your brother is indeed alive,” Maximus continued, his voice almost gentle now, as if explaining a difficult concept to a child. “And he’s played you beautifully. Played all of you, really.”
“No,” Greyson said, the denial automatic, instinctive. “Brooker wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t what?” Maximus interrupted. “Wouldn’t serve his father? Wouldn’t protect the Heart? Wouldn’t do his duty?” A harsh laugh escaped him. “You never did understand your brother, Greyson. Never saw his true nature beneath that facade of compassion.”
From the corner of his eye, Greyson saw Lira’s sharp intake of breath, saw Mikel straighten as if struck. Their reactions made no sense.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, looking between them. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“So many secrets,” Maximus said, enjoying his confusion. “So many lies. It must be exhausting trying to keep them all straight.”
He took a step closer, unconcerned by the weapons still trained on him.
“I had such fun toying with you, breaking you,” he continued. “And it was so easy once you thought the Daggermouth killed your brother.” He gestured toward Shadera. “I did not have to tell you anything about Brooker, could have waited until you figured it out on your own, but I enjoyed watching you crumble. Watching you try to reconcile your feelings for the Boundary trash with the idea that she killed your hero.” Maximus shrugged. “It was a test of trust, I suppose, and you passed.You still trusted me, even after every lie I have ever told you. You trusted that I was telling you the truth.”
Greyson’s stomach clenched, bile rising in his throat as his words sank in.
Movement below caught his attention. A figure emerging from the perimeter of the plaza, walking with confident strides toward the platform. Greyson’s gaze caught on the man, and his world tilted on its axis.
Brooker.
His brother. Alive and whole, a gun in his hand and a smile on his face that Greyson had never seen before—cold, cruel, triumphant. And beside him, stumbling as Brooker dragged him forward, a gun pressed to his temple—
“Callum,” Lira whispered, then louder, a scream and a sob tearing from her throat all at once. “Callum!”
Brooker laughed, the sound so familiar and yet so wrong that it made Greyson’s skin crawl.
“Grey,” he called up, his voice carrying across the plaza. “I missed you.”
Greyson’s stomach bottomed out, a hollow sensation spreading through his core, as if everything that had anchored him to the world had suddenly dissolved.
His brother.
His brother who had held him through nightmares as a child, who had taught him to fight, to survive their father’s cruelty.
“I killed him,” Shadera said beside him, her voice cracking with disbelief. “I killed him. He should be dead.”
“Unfortunately for you, you didn’t,” Brooker replied, his smile widening as he tightened his grip on Callum as he struggled against him, blood seeping from a cut above his eye, from his lips. “Though not for lack of trying. Your reputation is well earned, Shade.”
