Then Micah said, “How about this incentive, Athalar: you solve this case quickly—you solve it before the Summit, and I’ll lower your debts to ten.”

The very wind seemed to halt.

“Ten,” Hunt managed to say, “more assignments?”

It was outrageous. Micah had no reason to offer him anything. Not when his word was all that was needed for Hunt to obey.

“Ten more assignments,” Micah said, as if he hadn’t dropped a fucking bomb into the middle of Hunt’s life.

It could be a fool’s bargain. Micah might draw out those ten assignments over decades, but … Burning fucking Solas.

The Archangel added, “You tell no one about this, Athalar.” That he didn’t bother to also warn Isaiah suggested enough about how much he trusted his commander.

Hunt said, as calmly as he could, “All right.”

Micah’s stare turned merciless, though. He scanned Hunt from head to toe. Then the gallery beneath their booted feet. The assistant within it. Micah growled, “Keep your dick in your pants and your hands to yourself. Or you’ll find yourself without either for a long while.”

Hunt would regrow both, of course. Any immortal who made the Drop could regrow just about anything if they weren’t beheaded or severely mutilated, with arteries bleeding out, but … the recovery would be painful. Slow. And being dickless, even for a few months, wasn’t high up on Hunt’s to-do list.

Fucking around with a half-human assistant was the least of his priorities, anyway, with freedom potentially ten kills away.

Isaiah nodded for both of them. “We’ll keep it professional.”

Micah twisted toward the CBD, assessing the river breeze, his pristine wings twitching. He said to Isaiah, “Be in my office in an hour.”

Isaiah bowed at the waist to the Archangel, a Pangeran gesture that made Hunt’s hackles rise. He’d been forced to do that, at the risk of having his feathers pulled out, burned off, sliced apart. Those initial decades after the Fall had not been kind.

The wings he knew were mounted to the wall in the Asteri throne room were proof.

But Isaiah had always known how to play the game, how to stomach their protocols and hierarchies. How to dress like them, dine and fuck like them. He’d Fallen and risen back to the rank of commander because of it. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if Micah recommended that Isaiah’s halo be removed at the next Governors’ Council with the Asteri after the Winter Solstice.

No assassinating, butchering, or torturing required.

Micah didn’t so much as glance at them before he shot into the skies. Within seconds he’d become a white speck in the sea of blue.

Isaiah blew out a breath, frowning toward the spires atop the five towers of the Comitium, a glass-and-steel crown rising from the heart of the CBD.

“You think there’s a catch?” Hunt asked his friend.

“He doesn’t scheme like that.” Like Sandriel and most of the other Archangels. “He means what he says. He’s got to be desperate, if he wants to give you that kind of motivation.”

“He owns me. His word is my command.”

“With Sandriel coming, maybe he realized it’d be advantageous if you were inclined to be … loyal.”

“Again: slave.”

“Then I don’t fucking know, Hunt. Maybe he was just feeling generous.” Isaiah shook his head again. “Don’t question the hand Urd dealt you.”

Hunt blew out a breath. “I know.” Odds were, the truth was a combination of those things.

Isaiah arched a brow. “You think you can find whoever is behind this?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Not with this new bargain on the table. He tasted the dry wind, half listening to its rasping song through the sacred cypresses lining the street below—the thousands of them in this city planted in honor of its patron goddess.

“You’ll find them,” Isaiah said. “I know you will.”

“If I can stop thinking about Sandriel’s visit.” Hunt blew out a breath, dragging his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe she’s coming here. With that piece of shit Pollux.”

Isaiah said carefully, “Tell me you realize that Micah threw you another big fucking bone just now in stationing you to protect Quinlan instead of keeping you around the Comitium with Sandriel there.”

Hunt knew that, knew Micah was well aware of how Hunt felt about Sandriel and Pollux, but rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Trumpet all you want about how fantastic Micah is, but remember that the bastard is welcoming her with open arms.”

“The Asteri ordered her to come for the Summit,” Isaiah countered. “It’s standard for them to send one of the Archangels as their emissary to these meetings. Governor Ephraim came to the last one here. Micah welcomed him, too.”

Hunt said, “The fact remains that she’ll be here for a whole month. In that fucking complex.” He pointed to the five buildings of the Comitium. “Lunathion isn’t her scene. There’s nothing to amuse her here.”

With most of the Fallen either scattered to the four winds or dead, Sandriel enjoyed nothing better than strolling through her castle dungeons, crammed full of human rebels, and selecting one, two, or three at a time. The arena at the heart of her city was just for the pleasure of destroying these prisoners in various ways. Battles to the death, public torture, unleashing Lowers and basic animals against them … There was no end to her creativity. Hunt had seen and endured it all.

With the conflict currently surging, those dungeons were sure to be packed. Sandriel and Pollux must have been enjoying the Hel out of the pain that flowed from that arena.

The thought made Hunt stiffen. “Pollux will be a fucking menace in this city.” The Hammer was well known for his favorite activities: slaughter and torture.

“Pollux will be dealt with. Micah knows what he’s like—what he does. The Asteri might have ordered him to welcome Sandriel, but he isn’t going to let her give Pollux free rein.” Isaiah paused, eyes going distant as he seemed to weigh something internally. “But I can make you unavailable while Sandriel visits—permanently.”

Hunt lifted an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Micah’s promise to make me dickless, I’ll pass.”

Isaiah laughed quietly. “Micah gave you an order to investigate with Quinlan. Orders that will make you very, very busy. Especially if he wants Bryce protected.”

Hunt threw him a half grin. “So busy that I won’t have time to be around the Comitium.”

“So busy that you’ll be staying on the roof across from Quinlan’s building to monitor her.”

“I’ve slept in worse conditions.” So had Isaiah. “And it’d be an easy cover for keeping an eye on Quinlan for more than protection.”

Isaiah frowned. “You honestly mark her as a suspect?”

“I’m not ruling it out,” Hunt said, shrugging. “Micah didn’t clear her, either. So until she proves otherwise, she’s not off my list.” He wondered who the Hel might make it onto Quinlan’s list of suspects. When Isaiah only nodded, Hunt asked, “You’re not going to tell Micah I’m watching her around the clock?”

“If he notices that you’re not sleeping at the barracks, I’ll tell him. But until then, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”