“I have built this—” A small wave of his hand took in his office, the city, the world outside. “—not by being loved, but by being inevitable. Do you understand what that means?”
Greyson looked at his father, at the way the age in his face seemed like just another weapon, another calculated effect. “Yes, sir. I do.”
Maximus studied him for a long moment, searching the blue eyes looking back at him from under the onyx mask. “You flinched at your duty today with your hesitation. Not much, but enough.”
He picked up a report from the desk, letting his gaze roam over it, then tapped the corner. “There are rumors. Some Veyra officers question your priorities. Some say you are . . .distracted.” He set the paper down. “Distraction is a form of disloyalty.”
Greyson felt the knot of anger twist inside him, but he kept his expression blank. It was moments like these he was thankful he never relieved himself of his mask in his father’s presence.
“You are thirty-three years of age now, son. It is time you start taking your responsibility seriously. Your mother has paired you with a match, the Daunt family’s daughter, Moraine. You will complete your Vow ceremony in five days.”
There it was,the punishment.
Greyson had only met this woman once, and she was as loyal to the Heart as the President himself. If Maximus wanted to snuff out any doubt of his son’s loyalties, there was no better pairing than to do just that.
Greyson would’ve rather taken a beating.
“Father, Ican’t—” Greyson started in protest, but was silenced with a stare sharp enough to kill. He nodded his head reluctantly. “Understood.”
Maximus dipped his chin, satisfied. He picked up the gold mask, turned it in his hands, then met his son’s eyes.
“There is no place for hesitation in this family, Greyson. Or in this city. If you doubt yourself, you are already lost. If you doubt me—”
He did not finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Greyson stood, bowing his head. “I will begin my preparations for the ceremony.”
Maximus dismissed him with a wave.
Greyson left the room with the same silent steps, but this time the cold in his stomach radiated outward, into his chest, his hands, his breath. The echo of his father’s warning ran through him, steady as the electricity humming through the Heart.
There is no place for hesitation.
Chapter two
The Boundary
ShaderaKaelshoulderedintoWolf’s Head like a bullet entering bone. The neon script and skull motif above the door spat a red and violet haze, scattering color over a room packed with Daggermouth mercenaries who would kill for less than a full day’s ration.
Shadera blinked past the stinging light, let her vision settle into the shadows, and read the crowd the way a butcher might inspect the next carcass—efficient, unsentimental, already hungry for the cut.
It wasn’t the worst den in the Boundary, not by a long shot, but it stank of iron, old sweat, and the sweetly synthetic tang of antifreeze. The walls were poured concrete scored with graffiti and scars, posters for dead uprisings and missing rebels fluttering above chipped tables.
The main event tonight, as every night, was the slow consumption of chemical despair, poured by the glass, in a dozen brands of Shadera’s favorite bottom-shelf poison.
Liquor.
The regulars tracked her approach. A few nodded, some looked away, and a handful braced for violence. Word of her return ran ahead of her boots, a nervous twitch running through the Daggermouth ranks. She’d broken her last assignment in half—literally—a Cardinal ring snitch. The cleanup crew was still scraping bits of them out of the stormdrains.
She moved past the battered pool table where two wiry teens played for credits, one of them cradling a splinted hand, the other sporting a swollen black eye. Shadera passed by the half-circle bar, returning the old bartender’s offer of a smile, and threaded toward the back wall where the real authority lurked.
Jaeger Nolin,the Wolf.
Daggermouth guild master.
He sat alone at a corner table under a sickly pink corona of cheap LED, left hand curled around a chipped glass, right one palming a dull coin he flipped and caught with impossible rhythm. Even in shadow, his eyes tracked everything—his people, the doors, the angles of approach.
Most thought there was no warmth in him, not for his mercenaries, not for anyone. But Shadera knew better. She’d seen his heart, seen the way he took care of the Boundary and its people, seen him take orphans off the street and care for them.
