AMBER EYES, DEADLY LIES

HER NAME IS DAISY

SEBASTIAN'S POV

She's so small.

That's my first coherent thought once we're outside the mansion and I can actually think clearly. Daisy Matty barely comes up to my shoulder, and when I helped her into my truck, I could feel every bone in her hand through her skin. She weighs nothing. They've been starving her.

The rage that realization triggers is something I have to actively push down because losing my temper right now won't help anyone. I need to focus on getting us back to the waterfront before Raymond changes his mind about letting her go so easily, before he realizes that maybe there was a reason I wanted her specifically.

Before I start questioning why I wanted her specifically, because honestly, I'm not entirely sure myself.

Sophie's instructions were clear: go to the Matty mansion, invoke the treaty clause, and bring back the girl with amber eyes. She said it was important, that everything depended on it, but she wouldn't explain why. Just kept insisting that I'd understand when I saw her, that some things had to unfold naturally.

I hate cryptic bullshit, but Sophie's been right about enough things over the years that I've learned to trust her instincts even when they don't make immediate sense.

Daisy hasn't said a word since we left. She's pressed against the passenger door like she's trying to melt into it, her injured hand cradled against her chest, her eyes fixed on the window as the city slides past. The North District is all polished glass and careful landscaping, wealth on display in every building and street corner. It makes my skin crawl.

We pass the boundary into neutral territory, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. At least here, if Raymond sends people after us, it'll be obvious what he's doing. The neutral zones are monitored, agreements in place to prevent open conflict between territories.

"Are you in pain?" I ask, because the silence is starting to feel heavy and I need to know if she needs medical attention before we reach the waterfront.

Daisy flinches at the sound of my voice, and that tells me more about her life with the Mattys than any words could.

"My hand," she says after a long pause, her voice barely audible. "It's not bad. Just a cut."

I glance over at her. She's still staring out the window, won't look at me, and the gray dress she's wearing is stained with blood where she wrapped the glass in the fabric. How long was she kneeling there on the floor before I walked in? How many people walked past her without helping?

"We'll have someone look at it when we get home," I say, then immediately regret my word choice. Home. Like the waterfront is her home now. Like she has any reason to think of it that way.

She doesn't respond.

I turn my attention back to the road, navigating through traffic that's starting to thin out as we move away from the wealthy districts and toward the industrial areas. The buildings get older, more worn, tags and graffiti replacing the carefully maintained facades. Some people would call this part of the city ugly, but I've always thought it was more honest. At least here, people don't pretend to be something they're not.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder. I ignore it. It's probably Marcus, wanting an update, needing to know if I actually went through with the insane plan of claiming Raymond Matty's niece as payment for a twenty-year-old treaty. The answer is yes, obviously, since said niece is currently sitting in my truck looking like she might throw up or pass out or both.

What the hell am I doing?

I've built something real at the waterfront. A community of people who had nowhere else to go, who society decided weren't worth caring about. We have systems in place, rules, structures that keep everyone safe. And I just brought Raymond Matty's niece into the middle of it, someone who could be a spy or a liability or a dozen other kinds of problems.

But when I looked into her eyes back at that mansion, when I saw her kneeling on the floor bleeding and terrified and so completely resigned to whatever fate was about to befall her, something in my chest cracked open.

Sophie said I'd understand when I saw her. She was right, but not in the way I expected. I don't understand why Daisy is important or what role she plays in whatever larger game is being played here. What I understand is that leaving her in that house would have been unconscionable.

"Why did you come for me?" Daisy's question breaks through my thoughts, so quiet I almost miss it.

I consider lying, giving her some simple answer that won't raise more questions. But she deserves better than that.

"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure," I admit. "Someone I trust told me it was necessary. That you were connected to something important."

She turns to look at me for the first time since we got in the truck, and I can see the fear in her amber eyes. "Connected to what?"

"I don't know yet."

"So you took me away from my family because someone told you to, and you don't even know why?" There's an edge to her voice now, the first hint of anger breaking through the fear.

"Yes."

"That's insane."

"Probably," I agree. "But your family was abusing you, so even if this turns out to be a mistake, at least you're away from them."

She goes quiet again, and I wonder if I've said the wrong thing. Maybe she doesn't see it as a***e. Maybe she thinks that's just how families work. Or maybe she's angry that I pointed it out, that I named the thing she's been living with.

"I'm not going back there," she says finally, and there's steel in her voice that surprises me. "Whatever happens, whatever you want from me, I'm not going back to that house."

"You won't have to."

"You don't know that. What if Uncle Raymond changes his mind? What if he decides the treaty isn't valid? What if—"

"Daisy." I wait until she looks at me again. "You're not going back. I promise you that."

I shouldn't make promises I'm not certain I can keep, but something about the way she's looking at me makes the words come out anyway. She needs to hear it, needs something solid to hold onto in the middle of all this uncertainty.

We cross into waterfront territory, and the landscape shifts again. Converted warehouses and repurposed industrial buildings, community gardens growing in empty lots, murals covering concrete walls. It's not beautiful in any conventional sense, but it's ours. We built this from nothing, created something that works when the rest of the city decided we weren't worth the effort.

Daisy sits up straighter, taking it all in. I try to see it through her eyes, this sprawling collection of mismatched buildings and people who don't quite fit anywhere else. Does it look dangerous? Chaotic? Or does she see what I see, the careful organization underneath the rough exterior?

"This is where you live?" she asks.

"This is where we live," I correct. "About two hundred people call the waterfront home. Some have been here for years, others are more recent arrivals. We take care of our own."

"And I'm one of your own now?"

It's a fair question, and I don't have a good answer. The truth is, I don't know what she is yet. A responsibility, definitely. A complication, almost certainly. But standing in that mansion, watching her make the choice to come with me despite having no reason to trust me, I felt something shift.

"You're under my protection now," I say finally. "That makes you part of the community, whether everyone likes it or not."

"They're not going to like it," she says, and it's not a question.

"No," I admit. "They're probably not. At least not at first."

I pull up in front of the main building, the converted warehouse that serves as both my home and the administrative center for the territory. Marcus is waiting outside, arms crossed over his chest, and even from here I can see the disapproval radiating off him.

Beside him is his sister Iris, bouncing on her toes with barely contained curiosity. At least someone is approaching this with something other than doom and gloom.

I turn to Daisy. "Ready?"

She's gripping the door handle so tight her knuckles are white, and she's staring at Marcus like he might eat her. "No."

"Good. Me neither."

That startles a laugh out of her, just a brief sound that cuts off almost as soon as it starts, but it's something. A c***k in the fear, a hint that there's a real person under all that trauma.

I get out of the truck and walk around to her side, opening the door before she can change her mind and lock herself in. She slides out carefully, wincing when her feet hit the ground, and I make another mental note: check her ankle, she's favoring her left side.

Marcus's expression darkens when he sees her, sees how young she is, how small, how obviously damaged. Whatever he was planning to say dies on his lips.

Iris pushes past her brother, a bright smile on her face. "Hi! You must be Daisy. I'm Iris. Welcome to the waterfront. Let me show you around and we can get that hand looked at, okay?"

Daisy looks at me, uncertain, and I nod. "Go with Iris. She'll help you get settled."

"What about you?"

"I need to talk to Marcus. I'll check on you in a bit."

She doesn't look thrilled about this plan, but she follows Iris toward the building entrance. I watch them go, Iris chattering away and Daisy silent beside her, and I'm struck again by how fragile she looks.

"Tell me you have a good explanation for this," Marcus says the moment they're out of earshot.

I turn to face my oldest friend, the man who's had my back since we were teenagers trying to survive on our own. "I don't."

"Sebastian—"

"I know. I know it looks bad. I know we don't need complications right now. I know Raymond Matty is going to use this against us somehow. I know all of that."

"Then why?"

I think about Daisy's amber eyes, about the way she chose to come with me despite every reason not to, about Sophie's insistence that this was necessary.

"Because something told me it was the right thing to do," I say finally. "And I've learned to trust that instinct."

Marcus runs a hand over his face, exhausted already and the night has barely started. "This is going to blow up in our faces."

"Probably."

"She could be a plant. A spy. Raymond could have set this whole thing up."

"She's not."

"How do you know?"

I don't. Not for certain. But I think about the fear in her eyes, the resignation, the way she flinched when I raised my voice. You can't fake that kind of trauma.

"I just do," I say.

Marcus looks at me for a long moment, reading something in my expression that makes him sigh. "You're already attached to her."

"I'm not—"

"You are. I can see it. And that's going to make this whole situation ten times more complicated."

He's not wrong, but I'm not ready to admit it out loud. Not when I barely understand it myself.

"Keep an eye on her," Marcus says finally. "And for God's sake, be careful. Raymond Matty doesn't do anything without multiple layers of planning. If he let her go that easily, there's a reason."

He's right about that too.

But as I head inside to check on Daisy, I can't bring myself to regret the decision.

Not yet, anyway.