Chapter 26
DAVEN
Moargan’s kitchen was already loud by the time Daven and Ryneth arrived.
Beer bottles crowded the marble island, and someone had opened the terrace doors, letting the evening air of Helion drift through the room.
Somewhere outside, distant thunder rolled across the city.
Yure had taken over the entire corner wall again, his hands moving fast across three different screens while the others watched the surveillance feeds cycle through the lower sectors.
No one bothered with greetings. They were all there for the same reason.
“Motherfuckers have been playing us all along.” Moargan stood against the far wall, broad shoulders tense, his blond hair mussed like he’d dragged a hand through it too many times.
“Kylix went to collect the intel Concordant promised on Attica, but it looks like they’re standing him up.
He’s been standing in front of locked doors.
I hate to say it, but it feels like Father might finally have been wrong. ”
Ignoring his cousin’s complaints, Daven grabbed two bottles from the fridge, leaning his hip against the island as he passed one to Ryneth. “Do we have a visual on Kylix?”
At the sound of Kylix’s name, Mirel, who sat on a stool next to Cyprian, visibly shivered.
“He’s going to be all right,” Cyprian soothed.
“I-I know.” Mirel smiled, but it looked forced.
Gently pushing Ryneth their way, Daven joined Moargan and Helianth by the window, where they could stare at Yure’s screen.
“He’s been out there for half an hour,” Helianth mumbled absentmindedly, then pointed at one of the surveillance cameras that sat on Yure’s screen. “What’s that?”
Yure barely looked up, his mouth tightening. “They froze it.”
Daven frowned. The camera showed the same stretch of street outside the tower, wind pushing the rain sideways through the lights. The Luminary guards stood exactly where they had been ten minutes ago.
“But the time stamp isn’t moving?” Helianth leaned closer to the screen.
Yure’s fingers stilled for a second. “They froze the feed. Same trick as before.”
“Who? Attica?” Helianth asked.
Yure tapped the screen. “And Concordant now, apparently. Light knows they can already rewrite flight records. If they’re freezing cameras too, that means they’re deeper in the systems than we thought.”
“And then it shows something else.” Moargan’s mouth tightened.
Yure nodded. “Sometimes a different street. Sometimes an empty hallway.” His mouth went flat. “Sometimes they make sure we see exactly what they want us to see.”
Ryneth shifted beside them. “Messages?”
Helianth snorted. “Bodies. Prisoners. One time they ran a full drug lab through the hospital cameras just to prove they could.”
Daven’s jaw tightened. Yure might sound controlled talking about their mind-fucking games, but they had already taken Ryneth once. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
Yure flicked the feed forward. The image jumped, stuttering for a second like a recording catching up with itself. “Point is,” he said, voice flat, “if someone wants us looking in one direction, they make damn sure we stay there.”
Helianth frowned at the frozen street. “So where’s Kylix then? If the cameras are locked.”
Yure finally looked away from the code. “Oh, I can see him.” He tapped two keys. “There.”
One of the feeds shifted. The camera zoomed down the tower plaza. Kylix and the guards appeared back on the screen, still standing across from the tall glass tower where Concordant had been put up. The rest of his team was spread through the plaza outside.
Even through the grainy surveillance angle, he looked exactly like himself. Moody. Patient. Hands behind his back as he faced the tower entrance.
Helianth leaned closer. “That’s live?”
“Close enough.”
Helianth squinted at the feed. “Can we see the upper levels?”
Yure shook his head. “No, we’ve got the plaza. Not the inside. That breaches the privacy law.”
Moargan’s eyes stayed locked on the screen. “So why the fuck aren’t they coming out to meet him? They are guests on Helion. If Father gave the word, I’d have them dragged out of that tower by their throats.”
“Yeah, well, not these guests.” Helianth tipped his chin toward the screen. “They’re under direct Imperial protection. And we know why Father made that decision.”
Moargan went still for a second, fury tightening his face. But he let Cyprian drag a hand through his hair and murmur something low against his ear, the touch taking just enough of the edge off.
Yure leaned back in his chair. “They’re making him wait on purpose.”
Daven’s gaze stayed on the screen. “Why?”
Yure shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the feeds. “Because the meeting was never the real event.”
Ryneth frowned slightly. “You think they’re moving somewhere else?”
“That,” Yure said, “or they’re waiting for something to finish.”
Aviel flicked something in the pan behind them. “Professionals don’t stall unless it buys them something.”
“Professionals also don’t lock themselves in a tower while the Luminary waits outside,” Helianth muttered. He sprawled across a bar stool, his long legs stretched out. “If Kylix had taken me, we’d already be inside.”
“You had an exam. Father would have killed you personally.” Moargan’s mouth twitched as he reached into the cooler and tossed another beer across the island.
Helianth caught it one-handed. “An exam,” he repeated, sulking. “Yes. Because thermal mechanics is clearly more important than a Concordant delegation infiltrating Helion.”
Aviel barked a laugh. “Cry harder, Helianth. Maybe Kylix will hear you all the way from the plaza.”
“Please,” Helianth muttered. “At least he’d invite me along.”
Aviel leaned back against the counter and crooked two fingers without looking. “Come here, baby. Be useful.”
Theo appeared at his side almost immediately, pale curls catching the kitchen lights. With that same serene expression he always wore, he slipped behind Aviel and draped his arms loosely around his waist, resting his chin on Aviel’s shoulder like he belonged there.
Aviel’s hand came back automatically, gripping Theo’s wrist for a moment before letting him slide down to the ground and out of sight. “Better,” he murmured.
Taking a long drink, Daven let his gaze drift across the room.
At the far end of the island, Ryneth stood beside Cyprian, bent over one of Cyprian’s sketch slates while Mirel hovered nearby, silent as always.
Daven watched the way Ryneth’s shoulders moved when he laughed softly at something Cyprian said.
His grip tightened around the bottle.
Mine.
Behind them, Yure swore under his breath.
“What is it?” Daven turned.
Yure’s hands were already moving across the controls. “They’re fucking doing it again.”
The wall of feeds stuttered. For a second, the cameras flickered so fast the room filled with fractured images.
Rain-slick streets. Empty intersections.
The hospital perimeter. Then the Concordant tower again, but from the wrong side this time, the angle shifted far enough that Kylix and his team were nowhere in sight.
Just glass, reflections, and the sealed lower levels.
Then another feed flashed beside it. A dark road cut through mist and stone under harsh floodlights.
“What the fuck is that?” Moargan snapped.
The images jumped again. Hospital. Tower. That same unknown road. Then half the screens went black while the others kept running, the timestamps skipping so hard they looked broken.
Helianth was already off the stool. “They’re not glitching. They’re feeding us this.”
Yure dragged two more windows open, jaw tight. “I know.”
The screens kept stuttering across the wall. The hospital. The tower. That unknown road. Over and over, fast enough to feel deliberate, slow enough that none of them could ignore it.
For one fractured second, the far corner feed flashed something else entirely. Lightning tore across black clouds. Metal glinted in the storm. The silhouette of some massive industrial structure hung in the sky before the image vanished again.
Moargan pushed off the wall. “What the fuck was that?”
Yure’s voice went flat. “I don’t know.”
Daven kept staring at the wall, pulse hammering now. “They’re not just hiding. They’re steering us somewhere.”
“If only we knew where.” Yure leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on the screens. “Some of it’s real. Some of it isn’t.”
Daven frowned. “So what are we actually looking at?”
“Enough truth to keep us chasing the wrong thing.”
Aviel slid the pan off the stove and leaned on the counter. “So they flood the system with bullshit, then wait to see who bites.”
Moargan looked down at the multi-slate in his hand, thumb moving once across the screen before his mouth hardened. “Father says the same thing he said thirty minutes ago. Officially, Concordant is still a delegation. They haven’t broken Helion law on paper.”
Daven’s eyes snapped to him. “So we let them sit in the tower?”
Moargan’s grip tightened on the slate. “Father wants them watched. Not touched. Concordant promised they’d draw Attica out if we let this play long enough.”
Helianth’s voice went quieter. “And if we breach that tower before they give us cause…” He didn’t finish right away. Then his gaze flicked back to the feed. “That’s a declaration of war.”
The room went still for a moment.
Aviel gave a low whistle. “So we let them play.”
Moargan exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tight. “And in exchange, we’re supposed to trust they’ll flush Attica out.”
No one looked convinced.
Yure switched the main feed back to the tower plaza.
Kylix was still there, still standing in front of the tower doors with his hands behind his back, his team spread through the plaza around him like statues.
Waiting.
Daven stared at the screen, something ugly tightening low in his chest. “They’re not coming out.”
“No,” Yure said. “And that’s the point.”