Page 67 of Daggermouth

He moved toward Greyson, pulling him into one of those masculine embraces that involved more back slapping than actual hugging. “Try not to kill each other,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. Then he whispered something against his ear, something she couldn’t quite catch.

Greyson nodded once, his expression unreadable as Shadera’s suspicions piqued.

Callum turned to her, offering a slight bow that somehow managed to be both mocking and respectful. “Well, killer, welcome to the Heart.” He paused at the entryway, glancing back. “You know, Greyson is more than what you see on those screens. Much more.”

Before she could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Greyson returned to the stove, plating whatever he’d been cooking with the same focus he probably used to clean his weapons. Two plates, arranged with an attention to detail that seemed excessive for food.

Shadera drifted to the window, drawn by the lights below. The Heart sprawled beneath them, glowing like circuitry that spilled over the rings. Beautiful and cold. From this direction, you couldn’t see the execution platform. Couldn’t see the blood that never quite washed clean from the stones.

“The city is almost beautiful from up here,” she said, not really talking to him. “When you can’t see the suffering.”

“Almost.” His voice came from directly behind her, closer than she’d expected. She could see his reflection in the glass, watching her instead of the view. “Beautiful things are often built on ugly foundations.”

She paused, staring at him through the glass, desperately trying not to overanalyze his words. She turned to face him, finding him less than an arm’s length away. “Speaking from experience?”

“No,” he answered quietly, quickly. “There’s nothing beautiful in my world.”

The words hit Shadera with a force she wasn’t prepared for. It was sad, really, all this luxury, all this wealth and stability, and still he found no joy in it. Shadera knew better, had seen with her own eyes that beauty could be found in every corner if you looked for it. Even when the world was burning.

He held out one of the plates. “Eat.”

She didn’t argue.

The food was perfect. Of course it was. Everything he did, he seemed to do to perfection. She ate standing by the window, aware of him moving through the space, cleaning up the messes until the kitchen looked as if it had never been touched. It felt domestic, strange.

“I could show you,” he said suddenly.

She looked up from the plate. “What?”

“The Heart. Tomorrow, before the dinner. I can show you what it looks like in the light.”

Suspicion flared immediately. “Why would you do that?”

He met her eyes then from across the low-lit room, the intensity of them cutting through her drunken haze still clouding the edges of her thoughts. “Because we need to sell this arrangement. You need to look comfortable in my world, like you belong here. And because . . .” He paused, his throat working. “Because I have people I care about who are in danger if we fail at this.”

The honesty of it caught her off guard. “Callum,” she stated. “It was him in the drone footage with your sister, wasn’t it? I recognized the mask he wore tonight from what your father showed us.”

He didn’t answer, only nodded once.

She thought of Jameson as her eyes turned back to the window, of the drones that had hunted him, of what Maximus might do to him if she stepped wrong. They were from two very different worlds but both trapped inside the same nightmare. Both performing for an audience that would destroy everything they cared about if they missed a single line.

Shadera closed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath through her nose and letting it slowly exhale through her lips as she let the situation sink in, truly sink in. She hadn’t let herself see past the idea of killing him until now, hadn’t let herself accept that she was, in fact, a prisoner here until she could concoct a plan that wouldn’t get the people she loved killed.

She wanted him dead. Needed him dead. But Jameson, the people in the Boundary, they didn’t deserve to die because she couldn’t look past revenge. She wouldn’t let anyone else die on her path to vengeance.

Slowly her eyes peeled open and she strode toward the island, crossing the living space into the soft light of the kitchen. She set her platedown on the counter and turned toward Greyson. Her fingers found the marble edge and she hoisted herself up onto its surface.

She didn’t meet his eyes, but let her gaze fall to the dried blood on her leg where the glass had cut her, to her bare thighs visible from underneath the oversized shirt, to her hands folded in her lap. To the numbers tattooed across her fingers. 9758.

“So,” she started after a few minutes of silence as Greyson leaned against the back of the couch, arms folding over his chest. “You want to kill me.”

Greyson nodded, answering though it wasn’t a question. “Yes.”

“And I’mgoingto kill you.” His head tilted at her words, a smirk forming as if to say ‘debatable’ as she continued. “But if we kill each other, everyone else dies.”

“That seems to be the predicament.”