Jaeger’s words pulsed between her ears as she gasped at the pain lancing up her side.
‘Do not underestimate him, Kael.’
Shadera had absolutely, without a doubt, severely under-fucking-estimated him.
She drove her knee up between his legs. Greyson doubled over, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free and slam her elbow into his temple.
Shadera grunted between clenched teeth as she pulled his blade from her side and flipped it in the air, catching it in her fist.
“You fight well for being the Heart’s little bitch,” she admitted, spitting blood onto the floor.
Greyson circled her now, his movements predatory as he pulled a new blade from somewhere behind his back. “And you’re skilled for Boundary trash.”
They clashed again, blades singing against each other. Steel kissed steel as they traded blows too fast to track, their bodies a violent dance. Shadera felt the familiar rhythm taking over—the perfect clarity of combat, where nothing existed but the next strike, the next breath.
A lucky slice caught her bicep, opening a deep wound that immediately soaked her sleeve crimson. She hissed, switching Greyson’s blade to her other hand without breaking stride.
“Tired so soon, Daggermouth?” Greyson taunted, but his own breathing had grown labored.
“You wish,” Shadera snarled.
She charged, feinting high before dropping into a slide that took her beneath his guard. Her blade found the back of his knee, slicing through fabric and flesh. Greyson roared in pain but didn’t fall. Instead, hepivoted on his good leg and drove his elbow down into her collarbone with crushing force.
Something cracked. White-hot agony exploded through Shadera’s chest. She rolled away, gasping as Greyson created a bloody trail behind every step he took.
She launched herself at him again, but Greyson was ready. He caught her in midair, using her momentum to slam her down onto the altar. The marble cracked beneath the impact, and Shadera felt something tear inside her. Her vision swam, darkness threatening at the edges.
Greyson leaned over her, blade pressed to her throat.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
Shadera smiled through bloodied teeth. “Fuck you.”
With a desperate surge, Shadera’s hand slid to her thigh to retrieve her last weapon—the Veyra-issued gun. In one breath, she pressed it to his stomach and fired.
The silenced shot was barely louder than a cough.
Greyson jerked back, releasing her as crimson saturated the fabric on his abdomen. He staggered back with one hand pressed to the wound. Shadera rolled off the altar as he slipped on the blood spilling from his leg and stumbled to his knees.
The gun came up smoothly, trained between the eyeholes of his mask. Greyson froze, blood dripping from his wounds, chest heaving.
In the distance, boots thundered down the corridor—Veyra, coming to save their precious heir. Shadera knew she had seconds left.
“Beg,” she whispered. “Beg like they begged you.”
To her shock, Greyson straightened, shoulders squaring despite the pain it must have caused.
“Do it,” Greyson said, voice eerily calm.
She stared at him, brow furrowing at such an easy surrender.
Was he begging for death?
“What?” she panted, tightening her grip on the trigger.
“Fucking do it,” he said again.
Before Shadera could respond, Greyson did something she never expected. He reached up, blood dripping from his fingers, and removed his mask.
