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But he just held out his wrist. His tattooed wrist, with a C stamped over the slave’s mark.

Freed.

“I …” Bryce gripped Hunt’s wrist, then scanned his face. But it was not joy she saw there—not as he heard the voice on the line and understood who had gifted him his freedom.

“We also trust that this favor will serve as a reminder for you and Hunt Athalar. It is our deepest wish that you remain in the city, and live out your days in peace and contentment. That you use your ancestors’ gift to bring yourself joy. And refrain from using the other gift inked upon you.”

Use your starlight as a party trick and never, ever use the Horn.

It made her the biggest idiot in Midgard, but she said, “What about Micah and Sandriel?”

“Governor Micah went rogue and threatened to destroy innocent citizens of this empire with his high-handed approach to the rebel conflict. Governor Sandriel got what she deserved in being so lax with her control over her slaves.”

Fear gleamed in Hunt’s eyes. In her own, too, Bryce was sure. Nothing was ever this easy—this simple. There had to be a catch.

“These are, of course, sensitive issues, Miss Quinlan. Ones that, were they publicly announced, would result in a great deal of trouble for all involved.”

For you. We will destroy you.

“All the witnesses to both events have been notified of the potential fallout.”

“Okay,” Bryce whispered.

“And as for the unfortunate destruction of Lunathion, we do accept full responsibility. We were informed by Sandriel that the city had been evacuated, and sent the Asterian Guard to wipe away the demon infestation. The brimstone missiles were a last resort, intended to save us all. It was incredibly fortunate that you found a solution.”

Liar. Ancient, awful liar. He’d picked the perfect scapegoat: a dead one. The rage that flickered over Hunt’s face told her he shared her opinion.

“I was truly lucky,” Bryce managed to say.

“Yes, perhaps because of the power in your veins. Such a gift can have tremendous consequences, if not handled wisely.” A pause, as if he were smiling. “I trust you shall learn to wield both your unexpected strength and the light within you with … discretion.”

Stay in your lane.

“I will,” Bryce murmured.

“Good,” Rigelus said. “And do you believe it necessary that I contact your mother, Ember Quinlan, to ask for her discretion, too?” The threat gleamed, sharp as a knife. One step out of line, and they knew where to strike first. Hunt’s hands curled into fists.

“No,” Bryce said. “She doesn’t know about the Governors.”

“And she never will. No one else will ever know, Bryce Quinlan.”

Bryce swallowed again. “Yes.”

A soft laugh. “Then you and Hunt Athalar have our blessing.”

The line went dead. Bryce stared at the phone like it was going to sprout wings and fly around the room.

Hunt slumped on the couch, rubbing his face. “Live quietly and normally, keep your mouths shut, never use the Horn, and we won’t fucking kill you and everyone you love.”

Bryce sat on the rolled arm of the couch. “Slay a few enemies, gain twice as many in return.” Hunt grunted. She angled her head. “Why are your boots on?”

“Isaiah needs me at the Comitium. He’s up to his neck in angels wanting to challenge his authority and needs backup.” He arched a brow. “Want to come play Scary Asshole with me?”

Despite everything, despite the Asteri watching and all that had occurred, Bryce smiled. “I have just the outfit.”

Bryce and Hunt made it two steps onto the roof before she caught the familiar scent. Peered over the edge and saw who ran down the street below. A glance at Hunt, and he swept her into his arms, flying her down to the sidewalk. She might have snuck a deep inhale of him, her nose grazing the strong column of his neck.

Hunt’s caress down her spine a moment before he set her down told her he’d caught that little sniff. But then Bryce was standing before Ruhn. Before Fury and Tristan Flynn.