“Screw you, Dec,” Flynn muttered, and fired. The gunshot erupted through the space, the sound absorbed by the padding along the ceiling and walls, and at the far end of the gallery, the piece of paper swayed, the torso rippling.

Flynn lowered the rifle. “Straight shot to the balls, dickbags.” He held out his palm toward Ruhn. “Pay up.”

Ruhn rolled his eyes and slammed a gold coin into it as he turned to Hunt and Bryce.

Hunt glanced at the prince’s two friends, who were now sizing him up as they pulled off their earmuffs and eye gear. He and Bryce followed suit.

He didn’t expect the tinge of envy curdling in his gut at the sight of the friends together. A glance at Quinlan’s stiff shoulders had him wondering if she felt the same—if she was remembering nights with Danika and the Pack of Devils when they’d had nothing better to do than give each other grief over nonsense.

Bryce shook it off faster than Hunt did as she drawled, “Sorry to interrupt you boys playing commando, but we have some adult things to discuss.”

Ruhn set his rifle on the metal table to his left and leaned against the glass barrier. “You could have called.”

Bryce strode to the table to examine the gun her cousin had set down. Her nails glimmered against the matte black. Stealth weapons, designed to blend into shadows and not give away their bearer with a gleam. “I didn’t want this intel out there in the networks.”

Flynn flashed a grin. “Cloak-and-dagger shit. Nice.” He sidled up to her at the table, close enough that Hunt found himself tensing. “Color me intrigued.”

Quinlan’s gift of looking down her nose at males who towered above her usually grated on Hunt to no end. But seeing it used on someone else was a true delight.

Yet that imperious look only seemed to make Flynn’s grin grow wider, especially as Bryce said, “I’m not here to talk to you.”

“You wound me, Bryce,” Flynn drawled.

Declan Emmet snickered. “You up to do some more hacking shit?” Quinlan asked him.

“Call it shit again, Bryce, and see if I help you,” Declan said coolly.

“Sorry, sorry. Your technology … stuff.” She waved a hand. “We need analysis of some footage from Luna’s Temple the night the Horn was stolen.”

Ruhn went still, his blue eyes flaring as he said to Hunt, “You’ve got a lead on the Horn?”

Hunt said, “Just laying out the puzzle pieces.”

Declan rubbed his neck. “All right. What are you looking for exactly?”

“Everything,” Hunt said. “Anything that might come up on the audio or thermal, or if there’s a way to make the video any clearer despite the blackout.”