Page 158 of Daggermouth

The day of reckoning had begun.

Chapter thirty-three

5 AM

Lirastoodatthewindow of her apartment, tea cooling between her palms as she watched New Found Haven sleep its final hours of ignorance. The darkness that clung to the city, that had always defined it, would be washed away soon—not by the coming dawn, but by fire and blood and revolution. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass, eyes hollowed by a sleepless night, dark circles like bruises beneath them. She looked like a ghost already, and perhaps that was fitting for what was to come.

Platinum towers pierced the dawn sky, their surfaces catching the first hint of light. Streets empty and clean, patrolled by the occasional Veyra vehicle, its lights cutting through the lingering dark.

She sipped her tea, grimacing at its bitterness. She’d forgotten to add honey, too consumed by the weight of the coming day. Her hands had been steady as she brewed it—they were steady now—but her mind raced with a thousand calculations, a thousand ways this could go wrong.

Seven hours until the Vow ceremony. Seven hours until Greyson and Shadera would be forced to stand before the city as symbols of a unity that had never existed.

They would go to the consummation chambers after that, while their friends worked above to make sure no other woman had to enduresuch horrors. Next, they would attend lunch, a formal meal with all the city leaders to welcome them into society, as if they had not just been violated.

To end the day, at six o’clock, they would be back on the platform, making a united speech about the Heart, asking the rings to conform to its laws so they too could one day enjoy its luxury. What they didn’t know, is that speech would be heard by no one outside of the Heart. Every person in the rings that was not rising to fight today would be underground, sealed away in bomb shelters.

And beneath all that spectacle, the clockwork of rebellion would be turning, gears sliding into place, blades sharpening as Brooker—

Brooker.

Her brother’s face appeared in her mind, not as she’d last seen him in Wolf’s Head, hardened by years in the rings, but as he’d been before. Before the rebellion. Before his assumed death. Before everything had changed. The memory twisted in her chest, grief and relief intertwining until she couldn’t separate them.

Alive. He had been alive all this time.

The tea trembled in her cup, betraying the emotion she refused to show on her face. Lira took another sip, forcing the hot liquid down her throat as if it could wash away the sting of betrayal.

Callum had known. All these years, he had known Brooker lived while she mourned, while she wept in his arms, while their father became more monstrous.

“They thought they were protecting you,” Callum had explained as they’d driven back from Wolf’s Head. His voice had been gentle, as if kindness could soften the impact of his words. “If you’d known, your father would have seen it in your eyes. He would have known something was wrong.”

“And you?” she’d asked, unable to look at him. “What was your excuse for lying to me?”

His silence had been answer enough.

The memory of Callum’s face, of the guilt in his eyes when she’d left him at her door with nothing more than a cold good night, made her chest ache. She should hate him for his deception. Should rage against his betrayal of her trust, just when they had promised no more secrets.

But she understood now. Understood the sacrifices made in war, the necessity of compartmentalization. The price of keeping those you love alive.

She drained her tea and set the cup on the small table beside her. On its surface lay the items she would need today—her comms device, programmed with the rebels’ secure channel. A small pistol, loaded and safety on. A datapad containing the final details of their plan.

And her mask.

Lira picked it up, the rose gold gleaming even in the dim light of her apartment. She twirled it between her fingers, feeling its familiar weight, the smooth metal warm from her touch. How many years had she hidden behind it? How many lies had it enabled? How many truths had it concealed?

Her finger traced the decorative swirls that marked her as a Serel, as daughter to the President, as royalty in a kingdom built on subjugation. The mask that had been secured to her face on her sixth birthday, rendering her faceless, nameless, except for her family’s legacy. The mask that had been both a shield and prison.

After today, she would never wear it again.

She would be Lira. Just Lira. Not a Serel, not a diplomat, not a puppet dancing on her father’s strings. She would be free—or she would be dead.

It was so simple in the end. So clear. The path forward narrow but defined.

She set the mask down and moved to her desk, pulling open the hidden drawer with a press of her fingertip against the biometriclock. Inside lay the evidence she’d spent years collecting. Hundreds and hundreds of copies. Documents detailing her father’s corruption. Recordings of his threats. Financial records showing the diversion of resources meant for Cardinal and the Boundary. Autopsy reports of those who had mysteriously died after opposing him.

And at the bottom, sealed in a protective case, the final piece—her secret. Her plan.

Lira traced the edge of the case, her mouth set in a grim line. No one knew about this—not Callum, not Brooker, not Farrow or Jaeger or Jameson. This was her personal revenge for everything Maximus had taken from her. From all of them.