I try to keep a confident pose as I survey the scene. The Oligarchy still drag their chairs around while everyone else stands about, looking googly-eyed with shock. This is crazy. Why am I launching this plan again? Oh yeah, a bunch of tiny lightning bolts told me it was a good idea. I let out a long breath. We’re so fucked.

Lincoln steps up behind me, setting his arms about my waist. His body feels warm and solid behind mine. “May I have a minute, Great Scala?”

“I’m Myla.” As in a person, for the record.

“I see. Follow me, please.” Lincoln slips his hand in mine, guiding me into the small antechamber off the main room. It’s a snug space with dark walls lined pantry-style with food and water. Cots are stacked in one corner and there’s a makeshift kitchen of sorts. The exit to the surface is one huge circular steel portal that looks very, very closed.

Lincoln shuts the door to the main chamber and drags out a cot. My brows arch. What exactly is he up to? The Prince sits down and pats the space beside him. “Let’s talk.”

I raise my hands to shoulder level, palms forward. Frustration twists in my belly. We are so not doing whatever-it-is-he-thinks-we’re-doing right now. “This is no time for chit chat. Hell’s about to break loose. For real.”

Lincoln rests his elbows on his knees. “A few minutes ago, you sucked in enough supernatural electricity to power a universe. We’re not doing anything until I’m sure you’re okay.” He cocks his head to one side, his mismatched eyes filled with concern.

Dammit. I was okay as long as there was something to be pissed about (or in the case of the Oligarchy, bossy to). Now that Lincoln’s acting all sweet and lovey, I start to lose it. My bottom lip quivers. “I’m fine.” My eyes sting. “Maybe.”

Lincoln rises to his feet and wraps me in the mother of all hugs. His arms are warm and roped with muscle, his body firm and comforting. I cuddle my head into his shoulder and start spilling my guts. “This whole thing began because, like a dumbass, I wanted to know who my father really was. Now it turns out that my dad’s an archangel who’s in Hell, getting tortured for all eternity. So that sucks. Then I meet you, get all lovey and—BOOM—I’m the Scala Heir. Which was weird, but hey, the old Scala could have lived another thousand years, so no big deal, right?” I poke Lincoln softly in the belly. “Am I right or am I right?”

He tries to hide a chuckle. “You’re right.”