Bryce could feel Hunt silently urging her to ask the first of their questions, and she took a breath, bracing herself to fill this humming, too-small room with her voice.

But Briggs asked, “What month is it? What’s today’s date?”

Horror coiled in her gut. This man had wanted to kill people, she reminded herself. Even if it seemed he hadn’t killed Danika, he had planned to kill plenty of others, to ignite a larger-scale war between the human and Vanir. To overthrow the Asteri. It was why he remained behind bars.

“It’s the twelfth of April,” Hunt said, his voice low, “in the year 15035.”

“It’s only been two years?”

Bryce swallowed against the dryness in her mouth. “We came to ask you about some things related to two years ago. As well as some recent events.”

Briggs looked at her then. Really looked. “Why?”

Hunt leaned back, a silent indication that this was now her show to run. “The White Raven nightclub was bombed a few days ago. Considering that it was one of your prime targets a few years ago, evidence points toward Keres being active again.”

“And you think I’m behind it?” A bitter smile curved the angular, harsh face. Hunt tensed. “I don’t know what year it is, girl. And you think I’m somehow able to make outside contact?”

“What about your followers?” Hunt said carefully. “Would they have done it in your name?”

“Why bother?” Briggs reclined in his chair. “I failed them. I failed our people.” He nodded toward Bryce. “And failed people like you—the undesirables.”

“You never represented me,” Bryce said quietly. “I abhor what you tried to do.”

Briggs laughed, a broken rasp. “When the Vanir tell you you’re not good enough for any job because of your human blood, when males like this asshole next to you just see you as a piece of ass to be fucked and then discarded, when you see your mother—it is a human mother for you, isn’t it? It always is—being treated like trash … You’ll find those self-righteous feelings fading real fast.”

She refused to reply. To think about the times she’d seen her mother ignored or sneered at—

Hunt said, “So you’re saying you’re not behind this bombing.”

“Again,” Briggs said, tugging on his shackles, “the only people I see on a daily basis are the ones who take me apart like a cadaver, and then stitch me up again before nightfall, their medwitches smoothing everything away.”

Her stomach churned. Even Hunt’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Your followers wouldn’t have considered bombing the nightclub in revenge?”

Briggs demanded, “Against who?”

“Us. For investigating Danika Fendyr’s murder and looking for Luna’s Horn.”

Briggs’s blue eyes shuttered. “So the assholes in the 33rd finally realized I didn’t kill her.”

“You haven’t been officially cleared of anything,” Hunt said roughly.