“This conversation is over.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “One last thing. Whatever you’re planning with OCK, whatever you think you’re going to accomplish, it won’t work. The Syndicate has been around for generations. It’s survived coups, investigations, wars. You really think three college boys and a rebellious girl can bring it down?”
He walks away before I can respond, rejoining his cluster of political allies like our conversation never happened.
“He knows—about all of it. The photos, the relationship, everything.”
“And?”
“And he washed his hands of me. Said he can’t protect me—won’tprotect me—and that we’re all going to die.”
Jasper’s jaw tightens. He signs,“Fuck him.”
“Pretty much my thoughts exactly.”
Dredyn joins us, having apparently watched the exchange from across the room. “Your father looked pissed.”
“He told me to break up with Mara or face the consequences alone.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to go to hell. Politely.”
Dredyn’s smile is sharp. “Good. Fuck these people and their consequences.”
The main doors open, and a ripple of attention moves through the room.
The Presidential family has arrived.
President Clark Black enters first, every inch the leader of the free world in his tailored tuxedo. Eleanor Black follows, perfectly coiffed in a cream gown. Behind them, Milo?—
And then Mara.
She’s wearing the emerald green dress from this morning, but she changed the jewelry—gold earrings, a delicate gold chain with a small sapphire pendant.
Our eyes meet across the ballroom, and relief floods her expression. She wasn’t sure we’d actually make it—wasn’t sure her threat had worked.
I touch two fingers to my chest, right over my heart.
She mirrors the gesture.
We’re here. You’re not alone.
Then her mother guides her toward a cluster of donors, and the mask slides back into place—perfect daughter, America’s sweetheart. The role she’s been forced to play her entire life.
I watch as she’s introduced to various dignitaries and power brokers, shaking hands and smiling and saying all the right things. Every few minutes, her eyes find mine across the room, then Dredyn’s, then Jasper’s, checking that we’re still here, still watching.
We are. Always.
Dinner is announced, and guests begin making their way to assigned tables. I check my place card—Table 12, near the back.Far enough from the head table to avoid presidential proximity, but close enough to maintain visual contact with Mara.
Dredyn and Jasper are at the same table, along with several other children of senators and cabinet members. People our age who grew up in this world, who know how to make polite conversation about nothing while power brokers decide the fate of nations.
“Talon Reed,” the young woman to my left says, reading my place card. “Senator Reed’s son?”
“Guilty. And you are?” I ask, flashing my most charming smile.
“Madison Porter. My father’s the new Chief of Staff.”
“Ah. Congratulations... to him. And to you, I suppose, for surviving the campaign.”
