Page 180 of Daggermouth

Maximus didn’t move. “Have you lost your mind? I am the President of—”

“I said kneel.” The words were quiet, but they carried a weight that seemed to press him downward.

To her right, Greyson rose to his feet. His face—his beautiful, bare face—was streaked with blood and grime, his eyes wide with disbelief as he looked at her. Across the platform, Shadera stood slowly, limping from the bullet wound in her thigh, but her gun was raised and steady.

Her children. Standing tall. Standingfree.

Reluctantly, with a deliberation that suggested he was still in control, Maximus lowered himself to one knee. He kept his head high, his golden face gleaming in the sunlight that bathed the platform, as if this were some sort of ceremony rather than his downfall.

Elara stepped closer, close enough that she could see her own reflection distorted in his mask, then pulled it from his face and tossed it onto the ground below the platform.

“You were never the strong one,” she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the silent plaza. “You think strength is about dominance, about control, about making others fear you. But true strength?” She shook her head. “True strength is patience. It’s endurance. It’s waiting for the right moment when every instinct screams for immediate action.”

She took another step closer, the gun never wavering.

“You never broke me, Maximus. You never took my strength from me. You never stripped me of my fight.” Each word had been collected over the years, strung together for this moment. “While you were reveling in your power, in your illusion of control, I was watching. Learning. Planning.”

Maximus’s lip curled. “Planning what, exactly? This pathetic display? You’ve killed a few Veyra. The Heart still stands. My son—mytrueson—still lives to carry on my legacy.”

Elara laughed, the sound genuine despite everything. “Men never truly understand the meaning of patience. You see, men like you can’t comprehend even the concept of suffering, the lesson to be learned in it. Especially not in silence.” Her eyes never left his. “But women? That is all we do. We endure. We wait. We survive.”

Still she moved closer.

“I have watched you destroy everything I love. I have seen you corrupt our son, torture our daughter, break countless lives across all three rings of this city.” Her voice hardened. “I watched you bathe in your power like it somehow made you a great man, a great leader.”

She reached out to him, pulling his chin up toward her.

“But here I am, the weaker sex, holding all the power. Holding the gun. Getting the last word.”

A flicker of something—fear, perhaps, or maybe just annoyance—crossed Maximus’s face. “And what word is that, my dear? Some grand proclamation about justice? About a new order?”

“No,” she stated simply. “Do you know who I am?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Do you know what they call me, Maximus?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No,” he admitted, and the confession seemed to cost him something.

She smiled down at him. “Python,” she whispered. “They call me Python.”

Confusion crossed his features. “Why would they—”

“Because I slowly consume my prey,” she explained, her voice almost gentle. “I cut off their life force without ever being noticed until it’s too late. This city is my prey.Youare my prey.”

She could see his chest begin to rise rapidly, the vein in his neck begin to pulse frantically.

“A reckoning is coming for this city. Brought by my hand. But you will not be here to see it.”

“Elara, don’t do this. Please. We—”

“These will be my last words to you, Maximus Serel,” she said, cutting off his begging. “Mercy does exist in New Found Haven.”

She pressed the barrel of her gun to his head.

“Just not for you.”

Then, Elara pulled the trigger.