Chapter 26 #5
The words felt strange on his tongue. Trust was a luxury in New Found Haven, a commodity rarer and more precious than anything in the Heart.
For years, he had operated on the assumption that isolation was safety, that sharing his plans would only create vulnerabilities.
Now, with the knowledge of what his father was planning—with the sound of his sister’s voice describing the horrors she’d lived with in secret—he realized that isolation had only ever served Maximus’s interests.
“That’s a nice idea,” Shadera started, breaking the silence that followed his declaration. She fell back onto the couch, arms crossed over her chest. “But maybe this apartment, where we just murdered eight Veyra officers for surveilling us, isn’t the smartest location.”
“She’s right,” Callum said, finally holstering the gun and dragging a hand down his face. “My place, then,” he suggested, rising from his chair. “Tonight. I have security measures that even your father’s tech can’t penetrate.”
Greyson nodded, his expression softening as he turned to Lira. “Are you okay to join us tonight? We could use your expertise with media and public perception.”
“I’ll be there,” she said simply. “I know things about his inner circle that might help us.” She paused, her voice dropping lower. “And I want to be part of ending him.”
The venom in her tone made Greyson’s hair stand on edge.
Lira—the voice of reason for the Serel family—had been replaced with someone harder, someone forged in pain and long buried rage.
He wondered how much of the sister he thought he knew had been a carefully curated facade, a survival mechanism in a household ruled by cruelty.
“What about her?” Callum asked, nodding toward Shadera. “Can she risk leaving the apartment again after your little murder spree?”
Greyson and Shadera answered at once.
“Oh, I am fucking coming.”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
The memory of her near escape was still raw, still burning at the edges of his consciousness. “Where I go, she goes.”
Callum rose, straightening his bloodstained clothes as best he could. “I’ll have my men finish cleaning here,” he said, gesturing to the lingering evidence of violence. “The bodies will never be found.”
“Thank you,” Greyson said, the words inadequate for what he truly felt. Gratitude, yes, but also a profound relief at no longer carrying his secrets alone.
As Callum moved toward the door, a sharp knock froze them all in place. The sound echoed through the apartment, three precise raps against wood that carried the unmistakable authority of Veyra command. Greyson’s eyes met Callum’s across the room, a silent message passing between them—danger.
“Masks,” Greyson hissed, already reaching for his own. The others moved quickly, replacing their masks with practiced efficiency. Shadera’s fingers brushed against his as he handed hers to her, the brief contact sending an unwelcome spark through his nervous system.
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
Greyson drew a deep breath, forcing his features into the expressionless mask of the Executioner even before the physical mask settled over his face.
He nodded to the others, who positioned themselves strategically around the room—Callum by the kitchen island, hand resting casually near his concealed weapon.
Lira beside the window, adopting a posture of aristocratic indifference.
Shadera just behind him, a deadly shadow.
Greyson opened the door, body angled to block as much of the apartment from view as possible.
Captain Mikel stood in the hallway, his Veyra uniform pristine, his helmet snug over his head.
Even covered, Greyson could feel his stare assessing his bare torso, head tilting to peer over his shoulder at the others in the room.
“Executioner,” Mikel said, his tone formal but with an undercurrent of tension Greyson had never heard before. “I hope I’m not interrupting a social gathering.”
“What do you want, Mikel?” Greyson asked, not bothering to mask the edge in his voice. He shifted his stance, further blocking Mikel’s view of the apartment’s wreckage—of the hallway leading to the weapons room where Marcus’s body still cooled.
“Your father sent me,” he replied, his tone sharp.
“I’m listening,” Greyson said, maintaining his position in the doorway as anxious frustration flared in his chest.
Mikel paused, his head tilting again, moving slowly as if he were making mental notes. Shadera stepped up beside Greyson, fully blocking Mikel’s view, and for the first time, Greyson was so fucking thankful for that woman.
When he spoke again, his voice had taken on an official cadence that suggested he was delivering rehearsed words.
“The President has ordered to see you and the Daggermouth in his Haven Tower offices immediately,” Mikel announced, each word precise and flat. “Alone.”
The demand percolated between them as Greyson forced his breathing to stay steady. Immediate summons to the President’s office always ended with a warning—a threat. Greyson felt Shadera move closer beside him, the heat of her body reaching out as if trying to calm him.
“What’s this regarding?” Greyson asked, buying time as his mind raced through possibilities, none of them good.
“He did not say,” Mikel replied, his face revealing nothing. “Only that your presence is required without delay.” He paused, then added with careful emphasis, “Both of you.”
Greyson felt rather than saw the tension ripple through Shadera’s body.
This summons wasn’t a request. It was a command backed by the full authority of the Heart.
Refusing wasn’t an option—not without triggering immediate suspicion, immediate response.
Whatever his father wanted, they would have to face it directly.
“We’ll need a moment to prepare,” Greyson said, his voice calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind.
Mikel nodded once, sharply, then stepped back, allowing Greyson to close the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Greyson turned to face the others.
“This could be a trap,” Shadera said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.
Greyson turned to her, struck by the realization that she was afraid. Not for herself—he doubted she’d ever feared for her own life—but for what their discovery might mean for the rings, for the thousands whose lives hung in the balance of their ability to deceive his father.
“I know,” Greyson breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just get it over with.” He glanced to Callum. “Tonight. Your place. If for some reason we aren’t there, make a plan. Move forward with or without us.”