Daggermouth

Greyson sprang to his feet, rage propelling him forward. He seethed, fists clenched, ready to strike, but Lira’s eyes—wide and desperate—found his over their father’s shoulder, silently begging him to stop. He stilled, his chest rising and falling frantically as Shadera slowly rose beside him.

Maximus forced Lira to her knees beside the table, his grip on her throat tightening. “You think because I’ve given you responsibilities, because I’ve allowed you some small authority, that you have the right to speak at my table?” His voice was almost gentle. “You are a woman with freedoms I let you keep because I’ve not yet required you to take your Vow. But you are still a woman. I can take those freedoms away at any second, I can sell you off to the highest bidder where you will become another subservient woman whose only purpose is to breed heirs, to take orders.”

“I have no freedom,” Lira spat up at him, the words strangled.

The sound of Maximus’s palm co

Something in Greyson broke. Some final tether of restraint, some last vestige of fear or respect or whatever the fuck had kept him in check all these years. He launched himself around the table, blind with rage, deaf to his mother’s sharp scream as she pleaded with him to stop.

“Greyson, don’t!” Shadera yelled as she tried to catch his arm.

But it was too late. It was already in motion.

He was halfway to his father when Maximus released Lira, letting her crumple to the floor as he drew the gun from inside his jacket. The movement was smooth, practiced—the action of a man who had anticipated this moment, who’d been waiting for it.

“One more step,” Maximus said calmly, “and I’ll add another scar to your collection.”

Greyson didn’t stop.

The shot rang out, the force of it spi

“Is that the best you can do?” Greyson asked, his eyes dragging up to meet his father’s. “After everything else, you think a bullet scares me?”

“Predictable,” Maximus said, his voice coldly analytical. “Always so quick to defend the lesser sex, to defend lesser people. It’s why you’ll never be fit to lead.”

Greyson straightened, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep and broken inside him. It spilled out, harsh and genuine as he pressed his hand against the wound in his shoulder. “Is that what you think I care about? Fitness to lead? To be like you?”

He took a step forward in the silent room, then another, ignoring the gun still pointed at his chest.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing at the weapon. “Finish what you started. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Maximus’s eyes shifted behind his mask, a hint of uncertainty there as he reassessed his son. Maximus adjusted his aim, the barrel now pointing directly at Greyson’s heart. “You think I won’t?”

“I know you will,” Greyson replied, still advancing. “Eventually. It’s what you do—eliminate problems. Destroy anything that doesn’t conform to your vision. So do it. End the disappointment.”

Maximus’s finger tightened on the trigger, hesitating. For a moment, Greyson thought it might truly be the end. A strange calm washed over him at the prospect—not peace, exactly, but acceptance. Freedom, of a sort.

The same sensation he had felt when Shadera had pointed her gun at him. Except this time, it was laced with fear. Fear of leaving his family with this man, fear of leaving her with this man.

Then, in the next breath, Maximus pivoted, squatting down to the floor next to Elara, the gun now aimed at her head. “Perhaps I’ll start with your mother instead. Since you seem to value others’ lives above your own.”

The threat hung in the air, clear and unmistakable. Greyson went still, the calm draining from him as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced by cold, familiar panic. Not for himself but for the collateral damage his father never hesitated to inflict.

“That’s better,” Maximus said, satisfaction evident in his voice. “You see, son? Some lessons do stick, after all.”

For a heartbeat, the tableau held—Maximus with his gun against Elara’s temple, Lira still on the floor, Shadera standing now, waiting for permission to attack. Greyson could feel blood ru

“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice suppressing fury.

He moved toward Lira, positioning himself between her and their father. Shadera appeared at his side, her body tense, ready for action. He could feel the coiled violence in her, the mercenary calculating odds, measuring distances.

“You will do as I—” Maximus began.

“No,” Greyson cut him off, the single syllable carrying the weight of years of silent defiance. “Not tonight.”

He helped Lira to her feet, steadying her when she swayed. Her mask had cracked along one side, a thin line ru

In this moment, he realized that he trusted her. Not with his life, but with his sister’s. He knew somehow that she’d seen the violence of men, and she would protect Lira just as he would.

“If you walk out that door,” Maximus said, his voice like ice, “there will be consequences.”

Greyson turned back to look at him, at the man who had shaped his life through fear and pain, who had molded him into a weapon.

“There always are,” he replied. “You will get your Vow. You will destroy my life and I can swallow that. But I will not hesitate to kill you if you ever lay a hand on Lira again.” He paused, knowing the threat would cost him. But instead of leaving it, instead of walking out the door with the damage that’d already been done, he smiled at his father.

“A Serel doesn’t hesitate, right, Dad?”

He turned then, ushering Shadera and Lira toward the exit, his hand at Lira’s back as Shadera supported her.

“This isn’t over, Greyson,” his father called after them. “It’s barely begun.”

Greyson didn’t look back, didn’t slow his pace as they left the dining room, the evidence of his father’s violence marked in blood on his shirt and bruises already forming on Lira’s throat. Behind them, he heard the sound of glass shattering against a wall, his father’s rage finding its target after they were beyond his reach.

He couldn’t save his mother, he knew that. Knew that she would never betray his father. That Maximus would have put a bullet in her head before she took a step out of that room. His soul cracked at the thought, at the knowledge that she would be the one to receive his fury with no way out.

The truth of Maximus’s final words settled in Greyson’s gut like lead.

‘This isn’t over.’

Whatever game his father was playing, whatever trap he was setting—this di

They were all in danger.

He jabbed the button for his floor with more force than necessary, leaving a smear of crimson on the polished metal. The elevator doors slid closed, sealing them in silence broken only by Lira’s short, panicked breaths that Greyson recognized all too well—the aftermath of their father’s attention.

“Li.” He kept his voice steady, gentle in a way he reserved only for her. “Focus on my voice.”

Her eyes were wide behind her mask, pupils dilated. Her hand went to her throat where Maximus’s fingers had been.

“I can’t—” she gasped, the words fragmenting.

Lira’s breathing quickened, each inhale shorter than the last, her body trembling visibly now. Panic attack. She’d had them since childhood, since the first time their father had shown his true nature in front of her.

Greyson moved toward her, but Shadera was faster, stepping in front of his sister. She placed her hands on Lira’s shoulders, her movements careful but decisive.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice gentler than Greyson had ever heard it. “Through the mask. Find my eyes.”

Lira’s head jerked up, her chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

“Good,” Shadera continued, reaching up to adjust Lira’s mask, straightening it softly. “Now breathe with me. In through your nose.” She demonstrated, her own chest rising with a deep inhale. “Out through your mouth.”

To Greyson’s amazement, Lira tried to follow, her breath still hitching but gradually slowing as she matched Shadera’s rhythm. Shadera continued the pattern, her attention fully focused on Lira, as if they were the only two people in the elevator.

“That’s it,” Shadera encouraged. “Again. In . . . and out.”

Greyson pulled his tablet from his jacket, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain lancing through his shoulder. He keyed in a secure code, bypassing the usual communication cha

“Sir?” Chapman’s voice came through immediately, alert and concerned.

“We have a situation,” Greyson said, keeping his voice low. “Get to my floor. Immediately.”

He ended the call without waiting for a response, knowing Chapman would be there. The man had never failed him, not once in ten years of service.

Greyson turned back to the women, watching Shadera care for his sister as something shifted in his chest. The scene felt surreal, disco

They were supposed to be emotionless killers.

They weren’t supposed to care for other people, weren’t supposed to feel empathy, show kindness.

Pain pulsed from his shoulder, but he pushed it aside, compartmentalizing it as he’d been taught. Physical pain was the least of what his father had inflicted tonight. The bullet wound would heal. The sight of his father’s hand around Lira’s throat, of the gun aimed at his mother’s head—those wounds would fester like all the others, buried but never forgotten.

The elevator slowed, then stopped as rain began to drum against the glass box. Shadera’s gaze moved to the city beyond the window, cataloging, assessing, pla

The doors slid open to reveal Chapman standing at the threshold between doors, back straight, expression neutral despite the blood on Greyson’s suit, despite Lira’s obvious distress.

Shadera helped Lira to her feet as Chapman used his own key to unlock the door, stepping inside first to verify it was secure. He nodded once to Greyson before he ushered them inside.