He looked lost, stranded, somewhere between rage and terror. Not even a flicker of lightning at his fingertips. Bryce stepped closer to his side, flicking her ponytail over a shoulder. She took her brand-new phone out of her pocket, making sure the sound was cranked up.

So everyone could hear the loud click click click as she snapped photos of the two Archangels, then turned, angling herself and the phone, to get a shot with herself and the Governors in the background—

People murmured in shock. Bryce tilted her head to the side, smiling wide, and snapped another.

Then she turned to Hunt, who was still trembling, and said as flippantly as she could muster, “Thanks for bringing me to see them. Shall we?”

She didn’t give Hunt the chance to do anything as she looped her arm through his, turned them both around before taking a photo with him and the stone-faced Archangels and the gawking crowd in the background, and then tugged him back toward the elevator bank.

That’s why some legionaries had been rushing to get on. To flee.

Maybe there was another exit beyond the wall of glass doors. The crowd rose to their feet.

She pushed the button, praying it gave her access to any of the tower’s floors. Hunt was still shaking. Bryce gripped his arm tight, tapping her foot on the tiles as—

“Explain yourself.” Micah stood behind them, blocking the crowd from the elevator bank.

Hunt closed his eyes.

Bryce swallowed and turned, nearly whipping Hunt in the face with her hair again. “Well, I heard that you had a special guest, so I asked Hunt to bring me so I could get a photo—”

“Do not lie.”

Hunt opened his eyes, then slowly turned to the Governor. “I had to pick up supplies and clothes. Isaiah gave me the go-ahead to bring her here.”

As if speaking his name had summoned him, the Commander of the 33rd pushed through the line of guards. Isaiah said, “It’s true, Your Grace. Hunt was grabbing necessities, and didn’t want to risk leaving Miss Quinlan alone while he did it.”

The Archangel looked at Isaiah, then Hunt. Then her.

Micah’s gaze roved over her body. Her face. She knew that gaze, that slow study.

Too fucking bad that Micah was about as warm as a fish at the bottom of a mountain lake.

Too fucking bad he’d used Hunt like a weapon, dangling his freedom like a dog treat.

Too fucking bad he often worked with her father on city matters, and on House business—too bad he reminded her of her father.

Boo. Fucking. Hoo.

She said to Micah, “It was nice to see you again, Your Grace.” Then the elevator doors opened, as if some god had willed them to make a good exit.