Briggs demanded, “Against who?”

“Us. For investigating Danika Fendyr’s murder and looking for Luna’s Horn.”

Briggs’s blue eyes shuttered. “So the assholes in the 33rd finally realized I didn’t kill her.”

“You haven’t been officially cleared of anything,” Hunt said roughly.

Briggs shook his head, staring at the wall to his left. “I don’t know anything about Luna’s Horn, and I’m sure as shit no Keres soldier did either, but I liked Danika Fendyr. Even when she busted me, I liked her.”

Hunt stared at the gaunt, haunted man—a shell of the powerfully built adult he’d been two years ago. What they were doing to him in that prison … Fucking Hel.

Hunt could take a few guesses about the manner of torture. The memories of it being inflicted upon him still dragged him from sleep.

Bryce was blinking at Briggs. “What do you mean, you liked her?”

Briggs smiled, savoring Quinlan’s surprise. “She circled me and my agents for weeks. She even met with me twice. Told me to stop my plans—or else she’d have to bring me in. Well, that was the first time. The second time she warned me that she had enough evidence against me that she had to bring me in, but I could get off easy if I admitted to my plotting and ended it then and there. I didn’t listen then, either. That third time … She brought her pack, and that was that.”

Hunt reined in his emotions, setting his features into neutrality.

“Danika went easy on you?” Bryce’s face had drained of color. It took a surprising amount of effort not to touch her hand.

“She tried to.” Briggs ran gnarled fingers down his pristine jumpsuit. “For a Vanir, she was fair. I don’t think she necessarily disagreed with us. With my methods, yes, but I thought she might have been a sympathizer.” He surveyed Bryce again with a starkness that had Hunt’s hackles rising.

Hunt suppressed a growl at the term. “Your followers knew this?”

“Yes. I think she even let some of them get away that night.”

Hunt blew out a breath. “That is a big fucking claim to make against an Aux leader.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she? Who cares?”

Bryce flinched. Enough so that Hunt didn’t hold back his growl this time.

“Danika wasn’t a rebel sympathizer,” Bryce hissed.

Briggs looked down his nose at her. “Not yet, maybe,” he agreed, “but Danika could have been starting down that path. Maybe she saw how her pretty, half-breed friend was treated by others and didn’t like it too much, either.” He smiled knowingly when Bryce blinked at his correct guess regarding her relationship to Danika. The emotions he’d probably read in her face.

Briggs went on, “My followers knew Danika was a potential asset. We’d discussed it, right up until the raid. And that night, Danika and her pack were fair with us. We fought, and even managed to get in a few good blows on that Second of hers.” He whistled. “Connor Holstrom.” Bryce went utterly rigid. “Guy was a bruiser.” From the cruel curve of his lips, he’d clearly noticed how stiff she’d gone at the mention of Connor’s name. “Was Holstrom your boyfriend? Pity.”

“That’s none of your business.” The words were flat as Briggs’s eyes.

They tightened something in Hunt’s chest, her words. The vacancy in her voice.

Hunt asked him, “You never mentioned any of this when you were initially arrested?”

Briggs spat, “Why the fuck would I ever rat out a potentially sympathetic, incredibly powerful Vanir like Danika Fendyr? I might have been headed for this”—he gestured to the cell around them—“but the cause would live on. It had to live on, and I knew that someone like Danika could be a mighty ally to have on our side.”

Hunt cut in, “But why not mention any of this during your murder trial?”

“My trial? You mean that two-day sham they televised? With that lawyer the Governor assigned me?” Briggs laughed and laughed. Hunt had to remind himself that this was an imprisoned man, enduring unspeakable torture. And not someone he could punch in the face. Not even for the way his laugh made Quinlan shift in her seat. “I knew they’d pin it on me no matter what. Knew that even if I told the truth, I’d wind up here. So on the chance that Danika might have friends still living who shared her sentiments, I kept her secrets to myself.”

“You’re ratting her out now,” Bryce said.

But Briggs didn’t reply to that, and instead studied the dented metal table. “I said it two years ago, and I’ll say it again now: Keres didn’t kill Danika or the Pack of Devils. The White Raven bombing, though—they might have managed that. Good for them if they did.”

Hunt ground his teeth. Had he been this out of touch with reality when he’d followed Shahar? Had it been this level of fanaticism that prompted him to lead the angels of the 18th to Mount Hermon? In those last days, would he have even listened to anyone if they’d advised against it?

A hazy memory surfaced, of Isaiah doing just that, screaming in Hunt’s war tent. Fuck.

Briggs asked, “Did a lot of Vanir die in the bombing?”

Disgust curdled Bryce’s face. “No,” she said, standing from her chair. “Not a single one.” She spoke with the imperiousness of a queen. Hunt could only rise with her.

Briggs tsked. “Too bad.”

Hunt’s fingers balled into fists. He’d been so wildly in love with Shahar, with the cause—had he been no better than this man?

Bryce said tightly, “Thank you for answering our questions.” Without waiting for Briggs to reply, she hurried for the door. Hunt kept a step behind her, even with Briggs anchored to the table.

That she’d ended the meeting so quickly showed Hunt that Bryce shared his opinion: Briggs truly hadn’t killed Danika.

He’d nearly reached the open doorway when Briggs said to him, “You’re one of the Fallen, huh?” Hunt paused. Briggs smiled. “Tons of respect for you, man.” He surveyed Hunt from head to toe. “What part of the 18th did you serve in?”

Hunt said nothing. But Briggs’s blue eyes shone. “We’ll bring the bastards down someday, brother.”

Hunt glanced toward Bryce, already halfway down the hallway, her steps swift. Like she couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as the man chained to the table, like she had to get out of this awful place. Hunt himself had been here, interrogated people, more often than he cared to remember.

And the kill he’d made last night … It had lingered. Ticked off another life-debt, but it had lingered.

Briggs was still staring at him, waiting for Hunt to speak. The agreement that Hunt would have voiced weeks ago now dissolved on his tongue.

No, he’d been no better than this man.

He didn’t know where that put him.

“So Briggs and his followers are off the list,” Bryce said, folding her feet beneath her on her living room couch. Syrinx was already snoring beside her. “Unless you think he was lying?”

Hunt, seated at the other end of the sectional, frowned at the sunball game just starting on TV. “He was telling the truth. I’ve dealt with enough … prisoners to sense when someone’s lying.”