“Yes. But we’ve never been able to prove it.” Scar sets down his cup. “Grytel left the ball early that night. Did you notice?”
I frown, trying to remember. The evening is a blur of watching Naomi, of wanting her, of finally holding her in my arms. “I wasn’t paying attention to Grytel.”
“I was.” Scar’s jaw tightens. “He made his appearance, stood around looking superior for an hour or two, and then slipped out. Approximately thirty minutes before the mist rolled in.”
“You think he knew it was coming?” Trunk growls.
“I think it’s convenient.” Scar runs a claw along the arm of his chair. “The CEO of Minecorp, the male we’re certain orchestrated our parents’ murder and Daxon’s banishment, just happens to leave before a mysterious mist puts everyone to sleep? A mist that could have injured or killed anyone who wasn’t immune?”
“But we were immune,” I point out. “All of us. The fever brothers and our Brides.”
“Exactly.” Scar leans forward. “What if that was the point? What if someone wanted to see who could remain standing?”
The implication hits me like a punch to the gut. “They were gathering intel. On us.”
“It’s what I would do.” Scar’s voice is flat. “If I wanted to take down a family, I’d want to know their vulnerabilities first.”
Trunk curses under his breath.
Scar looks between us. “We need to be more careful. All of us. The attacks are escalating. First our parents. Then Daxon. Then Heavy. Now this.” He pauses. “I don’t think they’re finished.”
The laughter from the backyard drifts in again. I hear Naomi say something that makes Leah burst out laughing. The sound should comfort me, but now it just makes my chest tight with fear.
“What do we do?” Trunk asks.
“We keep our Brides close. We watch each other’s backs.” Scar picks up his ale again. “And I keep digging. There’s something we’re missing. Some connection we haven’t made yet.”
“Grytel,” I growl. “It always comes back to Grytel.”
“Maybe.” Scar’s response surprises me. “Or maybe that’s what someone wants us to think.”
I stare at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means Grytel is the obvious suspect. He’s Royal Pigment. He’s the CEO. He benefited from Daxon’s removal.” Scar shrugs. “But obvious suspects are sometimes decoys. Someone to draw attention away from the real threat.”
“You think there’s someone else?” Trunk sounds skeptical. “Who?”
Scar is quiet for a long moment. The fire pops and hisses. “I’ve been thinking about Kryzon,” he finally says.
Trunk’s expression darkens at the name. My own claws tighten around my cup.
Kryzon of Twelve. Our cousin. The male who betrayed Daxon, stole his position as head of the Miners’ Union, and convinced others of his lies even after Daxon beat him to the ground in an honor battle. The male whose treachery led to our eldest brother’s banishment from Timbur.
“What about him?” I growl.
“We’ve been so focused on Grytel that we’ve barely looked at Kryzon in years. We assumed he was just a pawn. A jealous cousin who saw an opportunity and took it.” Scar meets my eyes. “But what if he wasn’t just a pawn? What if he’s still involved?”
“Kryzon is nobody,” Trunk scoffs. “He holds a minor position in the Union now. He has no real power.”
“That we know of.” Scar leans forward. “I’ve started keeping an eye on him again. Tracking his movements. Who he meets with. Where he goes after his shifts.”
“And?” I press.
“And he’s been making trips to the Royal Pigment district. Late at night. Regular visits to a residence I haven’t been able to identify yet.” Scar’s jaw tightens. “A Margol miner has no business in that part of the outpost. Not unless he’s connected to someone with power.”
“You think Kryzon is working with Grytel,” I say slowly.
“I think Kryzon has always been working with someone. The question is who.” Scar picks up his ale again. “Grytel is the obvious suspect. He’s Royal Pigment. He’s the CEO. He benefited from Daxon’s removal. But obvious suspects are sometimes decoys. Someone to draw attention away from the real threat.”
