Sandriel’s full lips curved upward, a mockery of her twin’s smile. “Such simple, sweet wishes, Hunt. But that’s not how these things work out. Not for people like you.”

His stomach twisted. The photos were torture, he realized. To remind him of the life he might have had. What he’d tasted on the couch with Bryce the other night. What he’d pissed away.

“You know,” Sandriel said, “if you had played the obedient dog, Micah would have eventually petitioned for your freedom.” The words pelted him. “But you couldn’t be patient. Couldn’t be smart. Couldn’t choose this”—she gestured to their photos—“over your own petty revenge.” Another snake’s smile. “So here we are. Here you are.” She studied a photo Hunt had taken of Bryce with Syrinx, the chimera’s pointed little teeth bared in something terrifyingly close to a grin. “The girl will probably cry her little heart out for a while. But then she’ll forget you, and she’ll find someone else. Maybe there will be some Fae male who can stomach an inferior pairing.”

Hunt’s senses pricked, his temper stirring.

Sandriel shrugged. “Or she’ll wind up in a dumpster with the other half-breeds.”

His fingers curled into fists. There was no threat in Sandriel’s words. Just the terrible practicality of how their world treated people like Bryce.

“The point is,” Sandriel continued, “she will go on. And you and I will go on, Hunt.”

At last, at last, he dragged his eyes from Bryce and the photos of the life, the home, they’d made. The life he still so desperately, stupidly wanted. His wings resumed their itching. “What.”

Sandriel’s smile sharpened. “Didn’t they tell you?”

Dread curled as he looked at his phone in her hands. As he realized why he’d been left alive, and why Sandriel had been allowed to take his belongings.

They were her belongings now.

Bryce entered the near-empty bar just after eleven. The lack of a brooding male presence guarding her back was like a phantom limb, but she ignored it, made herself forget about it as she spotted Ruhn sitting at the counter, sipping his whiskey.

Only Flynn had joined him, the male too busy seducing the female currently playing billiards with him to give Bryce more than a wary, pitying nod. She ignored it and slid onto the stool beside Ruhn, her dress squeaking against the leather. “Hi.”

Ruhn glanced sidelong at her. “Hey.”

The bartender strode over, brows raised in silent question. Bryce shook her head. She didn’t plan to be here long enough for a drink, water or otherwise. She wanted this over with as quickly as possible so she could go back home, take off her bra, and put on her sweats.