Hunt glanced over a shoulder to find her leaning against the bed. “No one’s ever asked me that.” No one dared. But she held his stare. Hunt admitted, “I don’t know what I think.”

He let his stare convey the rest. And I wouldn’t say a fucking word about it in this place.

She nodded. Then looked at the walls—no artwork, no posters. “Not one to decorate?”

He stuffed clothes into the duffel, remembering she had a washing machine in the apartment. “Micah can trade me whenever he wants. It’s asking for bad luck to put down roots like that.”

She rubbed her arms, even though the room was warm, almost stuffy. “If he’d died that night, what would have happened to you? To every Fallen and slave he owns?”

“Our deed of ownership passes on to whoever replaces him.” He hated every word out of his mouth. “If he doesn’t have anyone listed, the assets get divided among the other Archangels.”

“Who wouldn’t honor his bargain with you.”

“Definitely not.” Hunt started on the weapons stashed in his desk drawers.

He could feel her watching his every movement, as if counting each blade and gun he pulled out. She asked, “If you achieved your freedom, what would you do?”

Hunt checked the ammo for the guns he had on his desk, and she wandered over to watch. He tossed a few into his bag. She picked up a long knife as if it were a dirty sock. “I heard your lightning is unique among the angels—even the Archangels can’t produce it.”

He tucked in his wings. “Yeah?”

A shrug. “So why is Isaiah the Commander of the 33rd?”

He took the knife from her and set it in his bag. “Because I piss off too many people and don’t give a shit that I do.” It had been that way even before Mount Hermon. Yet Shahar had seen it as a strength. Made him her general. He’d tried and failed to live up to that honor.

Bryce gave him a conspirator’s smile. “We have something in common after all, Athalar.”

Fine. The angel wasn’t so bad. He had patched her up after the bombing with no male swaggering. And he had one Hel of a reason to want this case solved. And he pissed Ruhn off to no end.

As he’d finished packing, he’d gotten a call from Isaiah, who said that their request to see Briggs had been approved—but that it would take a few days to get Briggs cleaned up and brought over from Adrestia Prison. Bryce had chosen to ignore what, exactly, that implied about Briggs’s current state.

The only bright spot was that Isaiah informed Hunt that the Oracle had made room for him on her schedule first thing tomorrow.

Bryce eyed Hunt as they boarded the elevator once again, her stomach flipping as they plunged toward the central lobby of the Comitium. Whatever clearance Hunt had, it somehow included overriding the elevator commands to stop at other floors. Sweet.

She’d never really known any of the malakim beyond seeing the legionaries on patrol, or their rich elite strutting like peacocks around town. Most preferred the rooftop lounges in the CBD. And since half-breed sluts weren’t allowed into those, she’d never had a chance to take one home.

Well, now she was taking one home, though not in the way she’d once imagined while ogling their muscles. She and Danika had once spent two solid summer weeks of lunch breaks sitting on a rooftop adjacent to a legion training space. With the heat, the male angels had stripped down to their pants while they sparred. And then got sweaty. Very, very sweaty.

She and Danika would have kept going every lunch hour if they hadn’t been caught by the building’s janitor, who called them perverts and permanently locked access to the roof.

The elevator slowed to a stop, setting her stomach flipping again. The doors opened, and they were greeted by a wall of impatient-looking legionaries—who all made sure to rearrange their expressions to carefully noncommittal when they beheld Hunt.

The Shadow of Death. She’d spied the infamous helmet in his room, sitting beside his desk. He’d left it behind, thank the gods.

The Comitium lobby beyond the elevators was packed. Full of wings and halos and those enticing muscled bodies, all facing the front doors, craning their necks to see over each other but none launching into the atrium airspace—

Hunt went rigid at the edge of the crowd that had nearly blocked off the barracks elevator bank. Bryce made it all of one step toward him before the elevator to their right opened and Isaiah rushed out, halting as he spied Hunt. “I just heard—”

The ripple of power at the other end of the lobby made her legs buckle.

As if that power had knocked the crowd to the ground, everyone knelt and bowed their heads.

Leaving the three of them with a perfect view of the Archangel who stood at the giant glass doors of the atrium, Micah at her side.

31

Sandriel turned toward Hunt, Bryce, and Isaiah at the same moment Micah did. Recognition flared in the dark-haired female’s eyes as that gaze landed on Hunt, skipped Bryce entirely, and took in Isaiah.

Bryce recognized her, of course. She was on television often enough that no one on the planet wouldn’t recognize her.

A step ahead, Hunt was a trembling live wire. She’d never seen him like this.

“Get down,” Isaiah murmured, and knelt.

Hunt didn’t move. Wouldn’t, Bryce realized. People looked over their shoulders as they remained on their knees.

Isaiah muttered, “Pollux isn’t with her. Just fucking kneel.” Pollux—the Hammer. Some of the tension went out of Hunt, but he remained standing.

He looked lost, stranded, somewhere between rage and terror. Not even a flicker of lightning at his fingertips. Bryce stepped closer to his side, flicking her ponytail over a shoulder. She took her brand-new phone out of her pocket, making sure the sound was cranked up.

So everyone could hear the loud click click click as she snapped photos of the two Archangels, then turned, angling herself and the phone, to get a shot with herself and the Governors in the background—

People murmured in shock. Bryce tilted her head to the side, smiling wide, and snapped another.

Then she turned to Hunt, who was still trembling, and said as flippantly as she could muster, “Thanks for bringing me to see them. Shall we?”

She didn’t give Hunt the chance to do anything as she looped her arm through his, turned them both around before taking a photo with him and the stone-faced Archangels and the gawking crowd in the background, and then tugged him back toward the elevator bank.

That’s why some legionaries had been rushing to get on. To flee.

Maybe there was another exit beyond the wall of glass doors. The crowd rose to their feet.

She pushed the button, praying it gave her access to any of the tower’s floors. Hunt was still shaking. Bryce gripped his arm tight, tapping her foot on the tiles as—

“Explain yourself.” Micah stood behind them, blocking the crowd from the elevator bank.

Hunt closed his eyes.

Bryce swallowed and turned, nearly whipping Hunt in the face with her hair again. “Well, I heard that you had a special guest, so I asked Hunt to bring me so I could get a photo—”

“Do not lie.”

Hunt opened his eyes, then slowly turned to the Governor. “I had to pick up supplies and clothes. Isaiah gave me the go-ahead to bring her here.”