Cedrick's blood ran cold.
The moment Cornelia's words settled over the camp, he felt it, the thin edge of a blade hovering just above his neck. These recruits were his. Carefully chosen. Slowly planted. Faces that blended in, talents that grew at just the right pace, loyalty that pointed anywhere but the Moonshade Family.
They were meant to bloom when the family weakened, when chaos cracked open the walls from the inside.
And now Cornelia was looking straight at them.
Cain, lying weak and silent nearby, felt no less panic than Cedrick did, though for an entirely different reason.
This is bad. This is really bad.
His whole plan hinged on people like Cedrick and William. Traitors. Ambitious fools. People who would scheme, whisper, frame, and push blame onto him until his wives finally snapped and kicked him out. If Cornelia uncovered them now, what would happen?
They wouldn't scheme.
They wouldn't frame him.
They'd be interrogated. Tortured. Executed.
And then what?
