“But you don’t dance for fun anymore?”

“No.” Her eyes went cold at that. “I don’t.”

“And you never thought of doing anything else?”

“Of course I have. I’ve got ten job applications hidden on my work computer, but I can’t focus enough to finish them. It’s been so long since I saw the job postings that they’re probably filled by now anyway. It doesn’t even matter that I’d also have to find some way to convince Jesiba that I’ll keep paying off my debt to her.” She kept stirring. “A human life span seems like a long time to fill, but an immortal one?” She hooked her hair behind an ear. “I have no idea what to do.”

“I’m two hundred thirty-three years old, and I’m still figuring it out.”

“Yeah, but you—you did something. You fought for something. You are someone.”

He tapped the slave tattoo on his wrist. “And look where I wound up.”

She turned from the stove. “Hunt, I really am sorry for what I said about Shahar.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Bryce jerked her chin toward Hunt’s open bedroom door, the photo of her and Danika just barely visible on the dresser. “My mom took that the day we got out of the hospital in Rosque.”

He knew she was building to something, and was willing to play along. “Why were you in the hospital?”

“Danika’s senior thesis was on the history of the illegal animal trade. She uncovered a real smuggling ring, but no one in the Aux or the 33rd would help her, so she and I went to deal with it ourselves.” Bryce snorted. “The operation was run by five asp shifters, who caught us trying to free their stock. We called them asp-holes, and things went downhill from there.”

Of course they did. “How downhill?”

“A motorcycle chase and crash, my right arm broken in three places, Danika’s pelvis fractured. Danika got shot twice in the leg.”

“Gods.”

“You should have seen the asp-holes.”

“You killed them?”

Her eyes darkened, nothing but pure Fae predator shining there. “Some. The ones who shot Danika … I took care of them. The police got the rest.” Burning Solas. He had a feeling there was far more to the story. “I know people think Danika was a reckless partier with mommy issues, I know Sabine thinks that, but … Danika went to free those animals because she literally couldn’t sleep at night knowing they were in cages, terrified and alone.”

The Party Princess, Hunt and the triarii had mocked her behind her back.

Bryce went on, “Danika was always doing that kind of thing—helping people Sabine thought were beneath them. Some part of her might have done it to piss off her mom, yeah, but most of it was because she wanted to help. That’s why she went easy on Philip Briggs and his group, why she gave him so many chances.” She let out a long breath. “She was difficult, but she was good.”

“And what about you?” he asked carefully.

She ran a hand through her hair. “Most days, I feel cold as it was in here with Aidas. Most days, all I want is to go back. To how it was before. I can’t bear to keep going forward.”

Hunt gazed at her for a long moment. “There were some of the Fallen who accepted the halo and slave tattoo, you know. After a few decades, they accepted it. Stopped fighting it.”

“Why have you never stopped?”

“Because we were right then, and we’re still right now. Shahar was only the spear point. I followed her blindly into a battle we could never have won, but I believed in what she stood for.”

“If you could do it over, march under Shahar’s banner again—would you?”

Hunt considered that. He didn’t normally let himself dwell too long on what had happened, what had occurred since then. “If I hadn’t rebelled with her, I’d probably have been noticed by another Archangel for my lightning. I’d likely now be serving as a commander in one of Pangera’s cities, hoping to one day earn enough to buy my way out of service. But they’d never let someone with my gifts go. And I had little choice but to join a legion. It was the path I was pushed onto, and the lightning, the killing—I never asked to be good at it. I’d give it up in a heartbeat if I could.”

Her eyes flickered with understanding. “I know.” He lifted a brow. She clarified, “The being good at something you don’t want to be good at. That talent you’d let go of in a heartbeat.” He angled his head. “I mean, look at me: I’m amazing at attracting assholes.”

Hunt huffed a laugh. She said, “You didn’t answer my question. Would you still rebel if you knew what would happen?”

Hunt sighed. “That’s what I was starting to say: even if I hadn’t rebelled, I’d wind up in a sugarcoated version of my life now. Because I’m still a legionary being used for my so-called gifts—just now officially a slave, rather than being forced into service by a lack of other options. The only other difference is that I’m serving in Valbara, in a fool’s bargain with an Archangel, hoping to one day be forgiven for my supposed sins.”

“You don’t think they were sins.”

“No. I think the angel hierarchies are bullshit. We were right to rebel.”

“Even though it cost you everything?”

“Yeah. So I guess that’s my answer. I’d still do it, even knowing what would happen. And if I ever get free …” Bryce halted her stirring. Met his stare unblinkingly as Hunt said, “I remember every one of them who was there on the battlefield, who brought down Shahar. And all the angels, the Asteri, the Senate, the Governors—all of them, who were there at our sentencing.” He leaned against the counter behind them and swigged from his beer, letting her fill in the rest.

“And after you’ve killed them all? What then?”

He blinked at the lack of fear, of judgment. “Assuming I live through it, you mean.”

“Assuming you live through taking on the Archangels and Asteri, what then?”

“I don’t know.” He gave her a half smile. “Maybe you and I can figure it out, Quinlan. We’ll have centuries to do it.”

“If I make the Drop.”

He started. “You would choose not to?” It was rare—so, so rare for a Vanir to refuse to make the Drop and live only a mortal life span.

She added more vegetables and seasoning to the pan before throwing a packet of instant rice into the microwave. “I don’t know. I’d need an Anchor.”

“What about Ruhn?” Her cousin, even if neither of them would admit it, would take on every beast in the Pit itself to protect her.

She threw him a look dripping with disdain. “No fucking way.”

“Juniper, then?” Someone she truly trusted, loved.

“She’d do it, but it doesn’t feel right. And using one of the public Anchors isn’t for me.”

“I used one. It was fine.” He spied the questions brimming in her eyes and cut her off before she could voice them. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“Maybe.” She chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry you lost your friends.”