Page 25 of Daggermouth

The law was absolute. To see was to possess, to know was to own. The Vow ceremony wasn’t just tradition, it was the foundation of the Heart’s social order.

Greyson moved to the western window, staring out at the city sprawled beneath him. From this height, even the Boundary’s decay looked beautiful under the setting sun, like a wound healing at theedges of something vital. He pressed his hand against the glass, feeling the chill seep into his skin.

The Daunt family was old money, predating even the Serel line in some bastard branch of the old world. Their daughter was renowned for her loyalty, her absolute devotion to the purity of the Heart. Greyson had met her once, at a function so exquisitely boring he’d spent most of the night plotting how best to end his own life with the salad fork. Her voice was monotone, her eyes mathematical and calculating, and she never smiled.

They would be perfect together, two masks missing their souls.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing every strand into place as he turned his back to the city and slowly returned to the altar.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Brooker had ever felt nervous like this, or if he’d just compartmentalized it, bottled it up, and let it rot somewhere dark inside him. Nothing ever rattled Brooker, or if it did, he didn’t show it.

He stood in the center of the room, closing his eyes as he squared his shoulders, and let his mind go blank except for the single imperative:endure.

HighaboveGreyson,tuckedinto the shadows of the HVAC system, Shadera Kael held her breath. She’d been there for hours, her body contorted into the cramped metal tunnel that ran along the ceiling, and her muscles ached with protest.

Through the narrow slats of the air vent, she’d watched the room being prepared—Veyra guards checking every corner, scanning for contraband, then departing without even a glance in her direction.She’d watched workers arrange the candles in perfect geometric patterns, place the ceremonial veils in their positions, and polish every surface until it gleamed.

And now she watched Greyson, silent and statuesque in the center of the room.

She shifted her weight, and the metal duct creaked beneath her. Greyson’s head snapped up at the sound, his masked face turning toward the ceiling.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Shadera made her decision in the silence between two breaths. With a solid kick, she dislodged the vent cover and dropped from the ceiling in a controlled fall, landing in a crouch on the floor as the metal crashed down beside her. Before Greyson could react, she was on her feet, blade drawn and pointed down.

His body tensed, coiling like a spring as he pivoted to face her. Recognition flashed in his eyes—not of her face, but of what she was.

A Daggermouth.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid,” he said, voice low and steady. His hand didn’t move toward his weapons. “The entire Veyra guard will be here in minutes.”

Shadera’s lips curled into a feral smile. She only needed seconds. “Plenty of time to carve your heart out, Serel.”

She lunged forward, blade slicing through air where his throat had been a heartbeat before. Greyson twisted away faster than she expected, his elbow connecting with her ribs as he spun past her. Pain blossomed across her side, but she’d been born in pain,raised in it.

Shadera circled him, blood singing in her veins as he simply clasped his hands behind his back, and let her.

“Too good for a fight, Serel?” she taunted. “Or are you just a coward hiding behind that mask?”

She feinted left as the words left her lips, then drove her knife toward his abdomen.

In one fast motion, Greyson unclasped his hands and caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting until the bones ground together. Her blade clattered to the marble floor.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, voice ice cold through the mask.

Shadera’s laugh was all teeth as she slammed her forehead into his face. The mask absorbed most of the impact, but he staggered back, releasing her as blood began to pour from her nose. She followed with a vicious kick to his sternum that sent him crashing into the ceremonial altar as she snatched the knife from the ground.

“Not a fucking chance,” she snarled.

The veils toppled as Greyson rolled across the altar, coming up with his own dagger fisted in his palm. Blood trickled from beneath his mask where the impact had split his lip and he spat red onto the pristine floor.

They collided like storm fronts, blade against blade, each strike proof of lethal training. Greyson moved with unexpected accuracy, each parry flowing into counterattack. His reach exceeded hers, but Shadera was faster, darting inside his guard to score a shallow cut across his forearm.

Greyson’s response was a low sweep that nearly took her legs from under her. She leapt, twisting in midair, but his fist caught her in the kidney as she landed. Pain exploded through her back, bright and clarifying.

Shadera’s vision blurred, the oxygen fleeing her lungs. She recovered with vicious speed, driving her fist upward. It connected with Greyson’s jaw, snapping his head back with a satisfying crack.

Greyson lunged forward, slamming her against the wall and sending the knife flying from her hand. The impact sent shock waves up herspine as his right forearm pressed against her throat and his dagger found a soft spot between her ribs and sunk into her.