Declan set down his rifle beside Ruhn’s. “I might have some software that can help, but no promises. If the investigators didn’t find anything two years ago, the odds are slim I’ll find any anomalies now.”

“We know,” Bryce said. “How long would it take you to look?”

He seemed to do some mental calculations. “Give me a few days. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.”

Flynn let out an exaggerated gasp. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to us, B.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She surveyed them again with that cool, mocking indifference that made Hunt’s pulse begin to pound as drivingly as the beat of the music playing through the chamber’s speakers. “Why are you three even here?”

“We do actually work for the Aux, Bryce. That requires the occasional bit of training.”

“So where’s the rest of your unit?” She made a show of looking around. Hunt didn’t bother to hide his mirth. “Or was this a roomies-only kind of thing?”

Declan chuckled. “This was an invite-only session.”

Bryce rolled her eyes and said to Ruhn, “I’m sure the Autumn King told you he wants reports on our movements.” She crossed her arms. “Keep this”—she gestured to all of them—“quiet for a few days.”

“You’re asking me to lie to my king,” Ruhn said, frowning.

“I’m asking you not to tell him about this for the moment,” Bryce said.

Flynn lifted a brow. “Are you saying the Autumn King is one of your suspects?”

“I’m saying I want shit kept quiet.” She grinned at Ruhn, showing all her white teeth, the expression more savage than amused. “I’m saying if you three morons leak any of this to your Aux buddies or drunken hookups, I am going to be very unhappy.”

Honestly, Hunt would have liked nothing more than to grab some popcorn and a beer, kick back in a chair, and watch her verbally fillet these assholes.

“Sounds like a whole lot of big talk,” Ruhn said, then indicated the target at the back of the room. “Why don’t you put on a little demonstration for Athalar, Bryce?”

She smirked. “I don’t need to prove I can handle a big gun to run with the boys’ club.” Hunt’s skin tightened at the feral delight in her eyes as she said big gun. Other parts of him tightened, too.

Tristan Flynn said, “Twenty gold marks says we outshoot you.”

“Only rich-ass pieces of shit have twenty gold marks to blow on bullshit contests,” Bryce said, amber eyes dancing with amusement as she winked at Hunt. His blood thrummed, his body tensing as surely as if she’d gripped his cock. But her gaze already drifted to the distant target.

She snapped the earmuffs over her arched ears.

Flynn rubbed his hands together. “Here we fuckin’ go.”