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Bryce swallowed. If they learned about the Horn, her power, the Gates … what was to stop them from using her as Rigelus had wanted to? Or from viewing her as a threat to be removed?

Master of spinning bullshit. She could do this.

“There are Gates within my world that open into other worlds. For fifteen thousand years, they’ve mostly opened into Hel. Well, the Northern Rift opens directly into Hel, but …” Let them think her rambling. An idiot. The party girl most of Midgard had labeled her, that Micah had believed her to be, until she was vacuuming up his fucking ashes. “This Gate sent me here with a one-way ticket.”

Did they have tickets in this world? Transportation?

She clarified into their silence, “A companion of mine gambled that he could send me to Hel using his power. But I think …” She sorted through all that Rigelus had told her in those last moments. That the star on her chest somehow acted as a beacon to the original world of the Starborn people.

Grasping at straws, she nodded to the warrior’s dagger. “There’s a prophecy in my world about my sword and a missing knife. That when they’re reunited, so will the Fae of Midgard be.”

Master of spinning bullshit, indeed.

“So maybe I’m here for that. Maybe the sword sensed that dagger and … brought me to it.”

Silence. Then the silent, hazel-eyed warrior laughed quietly.

How had he understood without Rhysand translating? Unless he could simply read her body language, her tone, her scent—

The warrior spoke with a low voice that skittered down her spine. Rhysand glanced at him with raised brows, then translated for Bryce with equal menace, “You’re lying.”

Bryce blinked, the portrait of innocence and outrage. “About what?”

“You tell us.” Darkness gathered in the shadow of Rhysand’s wings. Not a good sign.

She was in another world, with strangers who were clearly powerful and wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Every word from her lips was vital to her safety and survival.

“I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites,” she snarled. “I have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them.”

Rhysand looked to the warrior, who nodded, not taking his gaze off Bryce for so much as a blink.

“Well,” Rhysand said to Bryce, crossing his muscled arms. “That’s true, at least.”

Yet the petite female remained unmoved. In fact, her features had tightened at Bryce’s outburst. “Explain.”

They were Fae. There was nothing to suggest that they were better than the pieces of shit Bryce had known for most of her life. And somehow, despite appearing to be stuck a few centuries behind her own world, they seemed even more powerful than the Midgardian Fae, which could only lead to more arrogance and entitlement.

She needed to get to Hel. Or at the very least back to Midgard. And if she said too much …

The female noted her hesitation and said, “Just look in her mind already, Rhys.”

Bryce went rigid. Oh gods. He could pry into her head, see anything he wanted—

Rhysand glanced at the female. She held his stare with a ferocity that belied her small stature. If Rhysand was in charge, his underlings certainly weren’t expected to be silent cronies.

Bryce eyed the lone door. No way to reach it in time, even on the off chance they’d left it unlocked. Running wouldn’t save her. Would the Archesian amulet provide any protection? It hadn’t prevented Ruhn’s mind-speaking, but—

I do not pry where I am not willingly invited.

Bryce lurched back in the chair, nearly knocking it over at the smooth male voice in her mind. Rhysand’s voice.

But she answered, thanking Luna for keeping her own voice cool and collected, Code of mind-speaking ethics?

She felt him pause—as if almost amused. You’ve encountered this method of communication before.

Yes. It was all she’d say about Ruhn.

May I look in your memories? To see for myself?