Bryce elbowed Hunt in the ribs, reminding him to actually speak. “I’m Hunt Athalar,” he said, glancing at Bryce. “Or Athie, as she and Lehabah call me.”

Randall slowly set down his coffee. Yeah, that had been recognition in the man’s face a moment ago. But Randall narrowed his eyes at his daughter. “You were going to mention this when, exactly?”

Bryce rootled through the pastry bag on the counter and pulled out a chocolate croissant. She bit in and said around it, “He’s not as cool as you think, Dad.”

Hunt snorted. “Thanks.”

Ember said nothing. Didn’t even move. But she watched every bite Bryce took.

Randall met Hunt’s stare through the feed. “You were stationed at Meridan when I was over there. I was running recon the day you took on that battalion.”

“Rough battle” was all Hunt said.

Shadows darkened Randall’s eyes. “Yeah, it was.”

Hunt shut out the memory of that one-sided massacre, of how many humans and their few Vanir allies hadn’t walked away from his sword or lightning. He’d been serving Sandriel then, and her orders had been brutal: no prisoners. She’d sent him and Pollux out that day, ahead of her legion, to intercept the small rebel force camped in a mountain pass.

Hunt had worked around her order as best he could. He’d made the deaths quick.

Pollux had taken his time. And enjoyed every second of it.

And when Hunt could no longer listen to people screaming for Pollux’s mercy, he’d ended their lives, too. Pollux had raged, the brawl between them leaving both angels spitting blood onto the rocky earth. Sandriel had been delighted by it, even if she’d thrown Hunt into her dungeons for a few days as punishment for ending Pollux’s fun too soon.

Beneath the counter, Bryce brushed her crumb-covered hand over Hunt’s. There had been no one, after that battle, to wash away the blood and put him in bed. Would it have been better or worse to have known Bryce then? To have fought, knowing he could return to her?

Bryce squeezed his fingers, leaving a trail of buttery flakes, and opened the bag for a second croissant.

Ember watched her daughter dig through the pastries and again toyed with the silver pendant—a circle set atop two triangles. The Embrace, Hunt realized. The union of Solas and Cthona. Ember frowned. “Why,” she asked Bryce, “is Hunt Athalar your roommate?”

“He was booted from the 33rd for his questionable fashion sense,” she said, munching on the croissant. “I told him his boring black clothes don’t bother me, and let him stay here.”

Ember rolled her eyes. The exact same expression he’d seen on Bryce’s face moments before. “Do you ever manage to get a straight answer out of her, Hunt? Because I’ve known her for twenty-five years and she’s never given me one.”