Page 112 of Daggermouth

“Nothing will go wrong,” Jameson cut him off.

Jaeger’s helmet tilted, the expressionless faceplate somehow conveying disapproval. “If something goes wrong,” he repeated, “the fallback point is the east end maintenance tunnel. We wait thirty minutes, then we go—with or without you both.”

The harsh reality of their situation settled in Jameson’s gut. They were outnumbered, in enemy territory, working with borrowed timeand stolen identities. The odds of all of them making it out alive were deteriorating quickly.

“Understood,” Jameson said.

“Then go get our girl,” Jaeger replied, gripping Jameson’s shoulder briefly before melting into the shadows.

Jameson turned toward the pulsing lights of Club Thane, each step taking him closer to Shadera. The Veyra uniform felt heavier with each stride, the weight of his disguise, his mission, his fear thrumming through his blood.

He would find her. He would bring her home. And nothing in the Heart would stop him.

Theclubwasalive.Each beat of music traveled through Shadera’s body as if searching for something to awaken. She sat at the bar, nursing her fifth drink, the alcohol dulling the flame in her veins, the awareness she had of Greyson’s eyes on her even from where he stood a few paces away. Behind her mask, she watched the elite dance and laugh and drink, their expensive clothes and ornate masks creating a sea of wealth that could drown her. No one approached her, no one dared.

The Executioner’s future bride was not to be touched, even here, in this supposed sanctuary of pleasure.

The liquor was pure here, even better than what she indulged in at Greyson’s apartment. Even their vices were superior, carefully crafted and regulated while the rings made do with whatever poisonous concoctions they could distill from industrial waste. Shadera knocked back the remainder of her glass, the burn traveling down her throat as she turned back to face the bar.

Every few seconds, her eyes swept the room, cataloging exits and entrances, counting guards, measuring distances. Habits that had kept her alive in the Boundary, now automatic as breathing. Two main exits, both heavily monitored. Four emergency doors with alarm systems. Twenty-three displayed security personnel positioned throughout the club, all in black with subtle earpieces that betrayed their purpose. Fifteen more security dressed like patrons. Six cameras visible in the main space, likely dozens more hidden.

And not a single clear path to freedom.

The bartender—a willowy woman with a simple silver mask that marked her as service class—kept her distance, approaching only when Shadera’s glass emptied. The other patrons did the same, creating a bubble of isolation around her that felt both protective and suffocating.

“Try to have a little fun.” Greyson’s voice materialized behind her as his arm swept over her shoulder and set another glass in front of her. “You look like you’re planning a massacre rather than enjoying a night out.”

She didn’t bother looking up at him. “Maybe I am.”

“Targeting anyone in particular?” There was a lightness in his tone she wasn’t used to hearing, almost teasing. He slipped to her side and leaned casually against the bar.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Shadera replied, taking the fresh drink. “But you’re definitely in the fucking running.”

A sound escaped him—a laugh. A genuine laugh. The cadence of it was so warm Shadera finally turned to look up at him. His mask seemed less menacing in this lighting, its shadows softened by the club’s ambient glow. His posture had changed too, some of the rigidness in his shoulders loosening.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

Greyson tilted his head. “If I am?”

“Then good thing you have a driver, because I am nowhere near sober.”

There it was again.That fucking laugh.

“I’m going to go find Callum,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the music. “He’s either in his office or his apartment over the club. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”

Shadera raised a brow even though he couldn’t see it. “I think I can handle this gaggle of drunken idiots.”

His hand ran down her bare back as he leaned across the bar and she froze. He didn’t even seem to notice he was touching her, like this was something he always did, something natural between them. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to lean into his touch, not to bask in the warmth his fingers sent trickling up her spine.

Greyson’s other hand came back over the bar with a bottle in tow, and he set it down in front of her. “The bartender seems to be scared of you, and I did promise you could drink to your heart’s content.”

His hand disappeared from her back and she thanked God he moved away from her before she could protest the loss.

New rule after tonight, she thought to herself, as she downed the liquid in her glass then unscrewed the bottle. She was no longer allowed to drink around Greyson Serel.

She watched as he strode away from her, threading through the crowd with ease. The bodies parted for him, recognition and fear creating a path as he headed for the staircase in the back of the room. Before he could ascend, a woman materialized from the crowd, intercepting him with the confidence of someone who knew they belonged in his orbit.

Even from a distance with liquor hazed eyes, Shadera could tell she was beautiful. Her dress—deep blue and cut so low in the front it bordered on scandalous—clung to a perfect figure, the shimmering fabric catching light with every movement. Her mask was a masterpiece ofsilver filigree and sapphires, framing eyes that seemed to laugh even from across the room.