“Why don’t you have a seat, Your Grace?” Bryce said, scooping takeout containers into her arms, not caring if she got chili oil on her white T-shirt, only that Micah got the fuck away from the shelves and those precious books.

He ignored her, examining the titles at eye level.

Urd save her. Bryce dumped the takeout containers into the overflowing trash can. “We have some fascinating art upstairs. Perhaps you can tell me what you’re looking for.” She glanced at Lehabah, who had turned a startling shade of cyan, and shook her head in a silent warning to be careful.

Micah folded his wings, and turned to her. “What I’m looking for?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I—”

He pinned her with those icy eyes. “I’m looking for you.”

Today’s meeting was by far the worst. The slowest.

Sandriel delighted in leading them in circles, lies and half-truths spewing from her lips, as if savoring the kill soon to come: the moment they yielded everything to her and the Asteri’s wishes.

Hunt leaned against the wall, standing between the Asterian Guards in their full regalia, and watched the clock inch toward four. Ruhn looked like he’d fallen asleep half an hour ago. Most of the lower-level parties had been dismissed, leaving the room barely occupied. Even Naomi had been sent back to Lunathion to make sure the 33rd remained in shape. Only skeleton staff and their leaders remained. As if everyone now knew this was over. That this republic was a sham. Either one ruled or one bowed.

“Opening a new port along the eastern coastline of Valbara,” Sandriel said for the hundredth time, “would allow us to build a secure facility for our aquatic legion—”

A phone buzzed.

Jesiba Roga, to his surprise, pulled it from an inner pocket of the gray blazer she wore over a matching dress. She shifted in her seat, angling the phone away from the curious male to her left.

A few of the other leaders had noticed Roga’s change in attention. Sandriel kept talking, unaware, but Ruhn had stirred at the sound and was looking at the woman. So was Fury, seated two rows behind her.

Jesiba’s thumbs flew over her phone, her red-painted mouth tightening as she lifted a hand. Even Sandriel shut up.

Roga said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Governor, but there’s something that you—that all of us—need to see.”

He had no rational reason for the dread that began to curl in his stomach. Whatever was on her phone could have been about anything. Yet his mouth dried up.

“What?” Sabine demanded from across the room.

Jesiba ignored her, and glanced to Declan Emmet. “Can you link what’s on my phone to these screens?” She indicated the array of them throughout the room.