Page 82 of Daggermouth

Fields.

Actual fields of crops, stretching farther than seemed possible in an enclosed space. The dome’s transparent ceiling soared overhead, filtering sunlight to create perfect growing conditions. Workers moved through rows of plants, tending, harvesting, pruning. Every shade of green imaginable, punctuated by the colors of ripening fruits and vegetables.

She stepped forward slowly, reverently. Her palm pressed against the clear barrier that separated the viewing area from the fields themselves as her heart expanded then clenched in her chest.

The emotion that began to saturate her veins wasn’t anger this time, wasn’t rage. It was despair. There was food. There was so much food.

“This is just one of twelve domes,” Greyson said quietly, coming to stand beside her. “There are others for different climate needs, plus facilities for livestock.”

Shadera swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight, a static beginning to buzz in her ears.

“Who are they?” she asked, nodding toward the workers.

“Cardinal residents. Specialized agricultural technicians.”

“Do they get to take any of this home to their families?”

Greyson’s silence was answer enough.

She turned to face him, the mask hiding the pain she knew was written all over her face but not the crack in her voice. “Why are you showing me all this?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the fields beyond the barrier. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, careful. “In a few days you’ll be my wife. You’ll have a role to play in the Heart whether you like it or not. You should know the truth about what happens here.”

“The truth?” The rage was coming now. “The truth is—”

“I know the truth,” he cut her off, something hard entering his voice. “I’ve always known it and I am trying to change—” He stopped himself, as if he were about to say too much, show too much. “Knowing and changing are different matters entirely.”

Before she could respond, he was moving back toward the exit, his steps quick and purposeful. Shadera followed, her mind racing to process everything she’d seen, everything he’d said. He was hiding something crucial from her, she could feel it. There was a current of anger running through him that she hadn’t expected—not defensive rage, but something deeper.

They returned to the car in silence and Chapman opened her door for her as Greyson slid in from the other side. Something in that conversation had made him tense, had put him on edge. His hand flexed against his knee as if he were trying to regain control of whatever emotion was sweeping through him.

She watched him bury it, could see it in his body as he slowly pushed it back down, swallowing every ounce of proof that it had ever been there.

He cleared his throat. “Next is the Entertainment District,” Greyson said as they passed through another checkpoint. His voice had returned to its neutral cadence, the momentary crack in his composure sealed over.

Here, the Heart’s aesthetics shifted. Still pristine, still controlled, but with a veneer of indulgence that hadn’t been present in the other districts. Theaters, restaurants, private clubs, all designed with the same elegant restraint that characterized Heart architecture. Signs glowed subtly, promising pleasures to those with access.

“This is where Callum works?” she asked.

Greyson nodded with a soft chuckle. “This is what Callum owns. His main establishment is in the back end of the district, but he owns everything in one way or another.”

“So, he just manages everything?” Shadera pressed.

“Officially you could say that. Unofficially . . . Let’s just say, outside of my father, he is the most dangerous man in the Heart.”

“I thought that was you, being the Executioner and all.”

Greyson glanced over at her. “No, the elites don’t fear me because it’s not them I kill on that platform. But Callum, he doesn’t need a platform to instill fear. The secrets he collects do that for him.”

Shadera found herself oddly curious about this man who seemed to move between worlds. “And you trust him with your secrets?”

There was no hesitation in Greyson’s answer. “I trust him with my life.”

She didn’t answer, just turned back to the window, and the car continued its circuit. Shadera watched as people entered restaurants where a single meal would cost more than the rings saw in a month. Watched couples disappearing into theaters, their masks glinting in the afternoon light. Watched wealth and comfort parading itself while miles away, people were killing each other for credits.

“The Heart consumes,” she said softly, more to herself than to Greyson. “It takes and takes and gives nothing back.”

She turned to look at him again, studying the rigid line of his shoulders, the careful way he held himself while sitting beside her. “What’s your purpose in it?”