Daggermouth

Callum smiled as he watched Lira’s fingers wrap around Greyson’s forearm as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. He had no siblings, no family that cared for him as they cared for each other. Greyson was the closest thing to a brother he would ever have, and he would do anything for him—for them.

This plan, as neat as it sounded in theory, felt fragile. Too many variables, too many ways it could shatter.

Greyson was already moving toward the door, purpose in his stride. Callum followed, casting one last glance at Lira. Her posture had gone rigid again, the mask of Heart perfection sliding back into place as she dipped her chin.

The thump of the club’s music and pulsing neon lights washed over them as they stepped out of his office and made their way down the stairs. Greyson moved through the crowds like a shark through water, parting bodies with his mere presence. Callum kept pace, his mind still turning over the details of their scheme.

Get the Daggermouth to trust Greyson. To confide in him. To let her guard down just enough to reveal her secrets. It sounded simple, but Callum knew better. This woman had tried to kill Greyson, had come closer than anyone ever had. She was dangerous, unpredictable. And now she was living in Greyson’s home, sleeping under his roof.

The unease in Callum’s stomach twisted tighter. He knew Greyson, knew the darkness that lived behind his friend’s eyes. The violence that simmered just beneath the surface, always one trigger pull away from erupting. Putting him in close quarters with a Daggermouth was like trapping a wolf and a lion in the same cage.

Blood would be spilled. The only question was whose.