“Fine,” Ruhn said, his eyes cold. “I wouldn’t expect you to consider listening to me anyway.”

“Why would I listen to you?” she seethed. “I’m just a half-breed slut, right?”

Ruhn stiffened, a flush flaring. “You know it was a dumb fight and I didn’t mean that—”

“Yes, you fucking did,” she spat, and turned on her heel. “You might dress like you’re a punk rebelling against Daddy’s rules, but deep down, you’re no better than the rest of the Fae shitheads who kiss your Chosen One ass.”

Ruhn snarled, but Bryce didn’t wait before shoving through the shadows, blinking at the flood of light that greeted her, and aiming for where Hunt had paused at the doors.

“Let’s go,” she said. She didn’t care what he’d overheard.

Hunt lingered in place, his black eyes flickering as he gazed toward the shadowed back of the room, where her so-called cousin was again veiled in darkness. But the angel thankfully said nothing as he fell into step beside her, and she said nothing more to him.

Bryce practically ran back to the gallery. In part to start researching the Horn again, but also thanks to the flurry of messages from Jesiba, demanding to know where she was, whether she still wanted her job, and whether she’d prefer to be turned into a rat or a pigeon. And then an order to get back now to greet a client.

Five minutes after Bryce got there, Jesiba’s client—a raging asshole of a leopard shifter who believed he was entitled to put his paws all over her ass—prowled in and purchased a small statue of Solas and Cthona, portrayed as a sun with male features burying his face in a pair of mountain-shaped breasts. The holy image was known simply as the Embrace. Her mother even wore its simplified symbol—a circle nestled atop two triangles—as a silver pendant. But Bryce had always found the Embrace cheesy and cliché in every incarnation. Thirty minutes and two blatant rejections to his slimy come-ons later, Bryce was mercifully alone again.

But in the hours she looked, the gallery’s databases for Luna’s Horn revealed nothing beyond what she already knew, and what her brother had claimed that morning. Even Lehabah, gossip queen extraordinaire, didn’t know anything about the Horn.

With Ruhn heading back to the Fae Archives to see if any more information appealed to his Starborn sensibilities, she supposed she’d have to wait for an update.

Hunt had gone to take watch on the roof, apparently needing to make calls to his boss—or whatever Micah pretended he was—and Isaiah regarding the Horn. He hadn’t tried to come back down to the library, as if sensing she needed space.

Look toward where it hurts the most. That’s always where the answers are.