Bryce nodded to the tour group still trailing their leader through the temple. “This place might not have any cameras, but they do.”

“They’re focused on their guide,” Ruhn said. “And the noise they’re making will mask any conversation we have.” The shadows could only hide him from sight, not sound.

Through thin ripples in the shadows, they could make out a young couple edging around the statue, so busy snapping photos they didn’t note the denser bit of darkness in the far corner. But Ruhn fell silent, and Bryce and Athalar followed suit.

As they waited for the couple to pass, the tour guide went on, “We’ll dive more into the architectural wonders of the inner sanctum in a minute, but let’s direct our attention to the statue. The quiver, of course, is real gold, the arrows pure silver with tips of diamond.”

Someone let out an appreciative whistle. “Indeed,” the tour guide agreed. “They were donated by the Archangel Micah, who is a patron and investor in various charities, foundations, and innovative companies.” The tour guide went on, “Unfortunately, two years ago, the third of Luna’s treasures was stolen from this temple. Can anyone tell me what it was?”

“The Horn,” someone said. “It was all over the news.”

“It was a terrible theft. An artifact that cannot be replaced easily.”

The couple moved on, and Ruhn uncrossed his arms.

Hunt said, “All right, Danaan. Get to the point. Why’d you ask Bryce to come?”

Ruhn gestured to where the tourists were snapping photos of the goddess’s hand. Specifically, the fingers that now curled around air, where a cracked ivory hunting horn had once lain.

“Because I was tasked by the Autumn King to find Luna’s Horn.”

Athalar angled his head, but Bryce snorted. “Is that why you asked about it last night?”

They were interrupted again by the tour guide saying, as she moved toward the rear of the room, “If you’ll follow me, we’ve been granted special permission to see the chamber where the stag sacrifices are prepared to be burned in Luna’s honor.” Through the murky shadows, Bryce could make out a small door opening in the wall.

When they’d filtered out, Hunt asked, eyes narrowing, “What is the Horn, exactly?”

“A bunch of fairy-tale bullcrap,” Bryce muttered. “You really dragged me here for this? To what—help you impress your daddy?”

Growling, Ruhn pulled out his phone, making sure the shadows held around them, and brought up the photos he’d snapped in the Fae Archives last night.