Page 4

I step into the viewing room—one-way glass stretching across the wall, giving us a full view inside. The Barons deal in life and death, clean and final. The Princes, apparently, prefer this gray space in between, where things linger a little longer and hurt a little more.

“He’s not talking,” Whitaker says, pointing to my cheek. “Missed a spot.”

I find a cleaner patch of towel and scrub at it. “Not surprising. The Baron King doesn’t recruit pussies. Death is the most honorable thing he can choose right now.”

Whitaker snorts under his breath, clearly not sold, but he doesn’t argue. “Pace had a go at him last night. Didn’t get much beyond a smartass attitude.”

Through the glass, Pace moves with methodical precision, cleaning and organizing the instruments like he’s setting a stage. Lex hovers near Mateo, clinical and detached as he checks him over.

“I need you to understand something,” I say, balling the towel in my fist. “We had no idea he—or the other two—were involved. We were just as blindsided as everyone else, or maybe more so. And the King,” I take a deep breath, “if you understood how he felt about Arianette–”

“Hey, you don’t have to convince me,” Whitaker replies, hands up. “The Kings are controlling, manipulative assholes, and Maddox doesn’t get a pass, but…” he seems to struggle for the words to complete the thought. “Look, he did the right thing when he found out Willie tried to hurt the Princess. He didn’t have to. Instead, he handed him over like a goose on a golden platter to get the retribution coming to him. Maddox plays by a very specific set of rules that are bound by loyalty and tradition. This?” He gestures toward the blood-splattered room. “This kind of bullshit isn’t part of it.”

I exhale. “That’s a relief⁠—”

“I said you don’t have to convince me.” His mouth twists into an obnoxious smirk as he nods toward the glass. “Those two? They’ll be a harder sell. Verity might come around, especially if we find Stella in one piece, and the Dukes…” He shakes his head. “Fuck if I know what those idiots will do. They already knew Maddox was King, but Remy⁠—”

“Hates his father,” I finish. “Yeah. I picked up on that.”

He shrugs. “So we’ll see.”

“What about the Lords?”

Whitaker leans against the ledge beneath the window, arms folding neatly across his chest. He looks like he’s about to campaign for student body president—crisp light blue button-down, pressed trousers, not a lock of that pale hair out of place. Meanwhile, I’ve got a man’s DNA under my fingernails.

“That’s your biggest problem,” he says. “Because if my intel is right—” he tilts his head toward Pace “—they didn’t know shit. Not about Maddox being King. Not about me being his wife’s illegitimate kid. When everything drops?” He exhales. “That’s the kind of shit that makes everyone paranoid.”

I grimace. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.”

The door opens behind us. Pace and Lex walk in, both wearing the same blank, unreadable expressions.

“How’s he doing?” Whitaker asks before I can.

Lex drops his medical bag onto a metal chair with a dull clang. “He’s in a lot of pain,” he says. “Which might work in our favor for the next round.”

“I don’t know,” Pace adds, shoving his hands into his pockets. “He seems pretty set on taking whatever he knows to the grave.” His gaze lifts to mine, sharp and assessing. “Which makes me wonder. You sure he’s got anything worth saying?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

He shifts, like he’s weighing how to explain it. “It’s a vibe. You do a few hundred of these over the years, you start to feel it.”

“Feel what?” I ask, still not tracking.

He sighs. “The best way to keep a secret is to keep the circle small. That guy’s been living in the House of Night with you, right? And if your story’s true, you had no clue he was tied to this ‘Guardian.’ So maybe…” He shrugs. “Maybe no one trusted him with anything real. No locations or names–nothing that matters.”

“Or anything useful,” Whitaker adds. “Just a few crumbs to make him feel part of the team.”

“Guys like Mateo?” Lex cuts in, leaning back against the chair. “They don’t get invited into the inner circle. Liam and Billy—they had a score to settle with the Baron King. But Mateo?” He scoffs. “He’s a hanger-on. Not good enough to be chosen, just bitter enough to act like it. He’s the kind of guy who’d do anything to feel like he belongs.”

Pace nods once. “Which means he’d rather die than admit he was never important in the first place.”

The words land heavy in the room, thicker than the smell of antiseptic and blood. I look back through the glass.

Mateo’s slumped in the chair, head hanging forward, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven pulls. Lex did his job—kept him breathing, but if Pace is right, all we’re doing now is giving him the last bit of attention he’ll ever get.

“Then we’re wasting time,” I mutter.

Whitaker arches a brow. “You ready to call it?”