“Sabine lied about Danika not being at the temple. But we need a solid plan for catching her if she’s summoning this demon,” Hunt said to Bryce twenty minutes later over lunch. The angel devoured no less than three bowls of cereal, one after another. She hadn’t spoken on the way back to the apartment. Had needed the entire walk here to reel herself back together.

Bryce pushed at the puffed rice floating around in her own bowl. She had zero interest in eating. “I’m sick of waiting. Just arrest her.”

“She’s the unofficial Head of Moonwood and basically the Prime of the wolves,” Hunt cautioned. “If not in title, then in every other way. We have to be careful how we approach this. The fallout could be catastrophic.”

“Sure.” Bryce poked at her cereal again. She knew she should be screaming, knew she should be marching back to the Den to kill that fucking bitch. Bryce ground her teeth. They’d had no word from Tharion or Ruhn, either.

Hunt tapped a finger on the glass table, weighing her expression. Then he mercifully switched subjects. “I get Ithan’s history, but what’s Amelie’s problem with you?”

Maybe Bryce was just tired, but she wound up saying, “Did you ever see them—the messages from that night? Every newspaper had them on the front page after they leaked.”

Hunt stilled. “Yeah,” he said gently. “I did.”

She shrugged, swirling the cereal in her bowl. Around and around.

“Amelie had … a thing. For Connor. Since they were kids. I think she still does.”

“Ah.”

“And—you know about me and Connor.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

She hated those two words. Had heard them so many times she just fucking hated them. She said, “When she saw the messages from that night, I think Amelie finally realized why he had never returned her feelings.”

He frowned. “It’s been two years.”

“So?” It sure as shit hadn’t done anything to help her feel better about it.

Hunt shook his head. “People still bring them up? Those messages?”

“Of course.” She snorted, shaking her head. “Just look me up online, Athalar. I had to shut down every account I had.” The thought made her stomach churn, nauseating panic tightening every muscle and vein in her body. She’d gotten better about managing it—that feeling—but not by much. “People hate me. Literally hate me. Some of the wolf packs even wrote a song and put it online—they called it ‘I Just Hooked Up with Someone in the Bathroom, Don’t Tell Connor.’ They sing it whenever they see me.”

His face had gone cold as ice. “Which packs?”

She shook her head. She certainly wouldn’t name them, not with that murderous expression on his face. “It doesn’t matter. People are assholes.”

It was as simple as that, she’d learned. Most people were assholes, and this city was rife with them.