Page 74
He thinks tomorrow is about power. About reminding me and Elara of our place in the hierarchy, about demonstrating his control over our lives.
But what he doesn't understand—what he can't understand because men like him never do—is that he just gave us exactly what we need.
Access. Proximity. Opportunity.
Elara has been planning something for the past week. She won't tell me exactly what, says it's better if I have plausible deniability, can honestly claim ignorance if things go wrong. But I've seen the way she studies the Veritas structure, the way she asks careful questions about security protocols and who has authority to go where.
She's looking for an opening. A chance to get close to James, to make him pay for what he did to Brandon.
And James just handed it to her.
I raise my own glass in return, letting my smile widen slightly, letting him see that I'm not intimidated, not worried, not afraid of whatever he's planning.
Then I turn and make my way toward the exit, pulling out my phone as I navigate through the crowd of observers.
Me: Nathaniel wants you at the maze trial tomorrow. James specifically requested your presence.
The response comes within seconds.
Elara: When?
Me: 2 PM. North woods. He wants you to dress "appropriately."
Another pause, longer this time. I can practically see her processing this information, weighing options, calculating risks.
Elara: Perfect. Tell him I wouldn't miss it for the world.
The certainty in those words should worry me. Should make me call her immediately, demand to know what she's planning, insist that we come up with a safer strategy.
Instead, I text back: I love you. Be careful.
Elara: Always. And I love you too.
I pocket my phone and head for the parking lot, leaving the observation deck and its barbaric entertainment behind. Tomorrow is going to change everything. I can feel it the way you feel a storm building on the horizon, that electric charge in the air that says something significant is about to break.
James Harrington thinks he's in control. Thinks he can summon my wife like she's a servant, parade her around like a trophy, remind us both of our powerlessness.
But he's wrong.
Because the most dangerous thing you can do to someone with nothing left to lose is give them an opportunity for revenge.
And tomorrow, Elara is going to take it.
21
ALEXANDER
The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my nightstand, casting long shadows across the walls that make the space feel smaller, more intimate. Elara sits cross-legged on our bed, still wearing the black silk robe she changed into after dinner, her newly shortened hair falling in soft waves around her face. She has papers spread across the duvet—floor plans, schedules, photographs she's somehow acquired of the hedge maze construction site.
She's been planning this for days. Studying. Preparing. Becoming someone I barely recognize and am simultaneously captivated by.
"The final game is always the most elaborate," I say, leaning against the dresser with my arms crossed, watching her work with the kind of focused intensity that makes my pulse quicken. "The hedge maze, the performers, the atmosphere. It's designed to be overwhelming. Disorienting."
"Which makes it perfect." Her finger traces a path on the floor plan, following what looks like a route through the maze's twisting corridors. "Chaos is cover. Everyone will be distracted by the spectacle, by watching the initiates struggle. No one will be paying attention to what's happening in the shadows."
The calculated coldness in her voice sends heat through my veins, settles low in my stomach in a way that should probably concern me but doesn't.
"James will have security," I point out, playing devil's advocate even as I'm mentally cataloging ways to neutralize that obstacle. "He always does during the Games. At least two personal guards, plus whatever general security the Veritas has stationed around the perimeter."
