Logan looks up, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath. “I’m not sending you in there alone,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Not after what we just saw. Not when this is how the king’s men treat Omegas they’re supposed to protect.”
“But the plan—“ I begin.
“The plan was flawed,” he cuts me off, pulling on the guard’s shirt. It’s tight across his broader shoulders, but passable. “I was wrong to agree to it. We do this together, or not at all.”
I stare at him, caught between frustration at this last-minute change and a strange, unexpected relief. The thought of facing the palace alone has been terrifying, though I’ve refused to admit it even to myself.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say, but there’s no real heat in my words. “Your face is too well-known. Someone will recognize you.”
He holds up a set of face coverings. “We’ll wear these. It isn’t uncommon for guards to be masked.”
Ares finishes donning the second guard’s uniform, which strains across his massive chest but otherwise fits well enough to pass casual inspection. “We have maybe ten minutes before someone comes looking for these idiots,” he says, nodding toward the unconscious guards. “Less if the sergeant wakes up.”
“The plan remains essentially the same,” Logan says, voice muffled behind the fabric covering the lower half of his face. “Maya surrenders herself at the palace gates. We escort her, posing as the guards assigned to transport her from the checkpoint. Once inside, we separate—Maya to seek audience with the king, Ares and I to locate Poe and Dani.”
“And when they discover the real transport never arrived?” I ask, the practical concern cutting through my mixed emotions about this change in plans.
“By then, it won’t matter,” Logan says with grim certainty. “We’ll either have succeeded or failed. Either way, there will be no hiding what we’ve done.”
I absorb this, understanding the implications. This is it—the final gambit. No more hiding, no more playing the long game. After tonight, Logan will be openly declared a traitor, the rebellion forced into direct confrontation with the crown.
“We started this together,” Logan says, meeting my gaze steadily. “That’s how we’ll finish it.”
I nod, straightening my spine, lifting my chin. “Let’s end this. Together.”
Logan’s eyes meet mine, something like pride flickering in their depths. He nods once, sharp and decisive, then gestures toward the door. “Lead the way.”
And I do, stepping out into the night with my head held high, flanked by two men who are no longer my captors but my companions. My equals in this fight that has always been about more than just our personal freedom.
It’s about changing the world. One step, one choice, one act of defiance at a time.
Starting tonight.
CHAPTER 32
Logan
The guard’s uniform chafes against my skin, the fabric rough and too tight across my shoulders. I resist the urge to adjust it as we approach the palace gates, Maya between us, her hands bound loosely in front of her with restraints we have no intention of fully securing. Ares walks on her other side, his massive frame barely contained by the stolen uniform, the fabric straining across his chest with each breath.
“Steady,” I murmur, my voice low enough that only they can hear. “Remember, we’re just doing our job. Nothing special. Nothing worth noticing.”
Maya gives an almost imperceptible nod, her posture perfect—the very image of Omega submission. Her head is bowed just enough to appear defeated without looking broken, her steps measured and graceful despite the circumstances.
My heart pounds against my ribs as we draw closer to the palace gates. Home. The place I grew up, the halls I ran through as a child, the rooms where I learned to be a prince, an Alpha, a leader. Now I approach as an imposter, a traitor, a thief in the night coming to steal back what my father has taken.
The outer checkpoint looms ahead—a fortified gatehouse with armed guards visible in the watchtowers. Standard procedure would have them verify our identity, check our credentials, confirm our prisoner transfer orders. All things we don’t have.
“Follow my lead,” I say, straightening my spine and adopting the arrogant bearing of palace security. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“I know how to play prisoner,” Maya replies, her voice carrying just the right note of subdued bitterness. “I’ve had practice.”
The barb lands, as intended. I deserve it. But now isn’t the time to dwell on past mistakes. Now is the time to focus, to become someone else entirely—not Prince Logan Corellian, but Guardian Tanner, a nobody tasked with delivering a valuable prisoner to the king.
We stop at the checkpoint, the barrier lowered across the road in front of us. A guard approaches, his expression bored beneath the standard-issue balaclava that covers most of his face. I’m grateful for that small mercy—the facial coverings common to the guardians will help conceal our identities.
“State your business,” he demands, not bothering with formalities.
I step forward, pulling out the identification card I took from one of the guards. “Prisoner transfer from the eastern checkpoint,” I say, my voice gruff and impersonal. “The fugitive Maya Tantamount, captured attempting to return to the city.”
