“I don’t give a shit,” he said, smiling slightly. “I don’t care if I’m called Prince or Starborn or the Chosen One or any of that.” He grabbed her hand. “The only thing I want to be called right now is your brother.” He added softly, “If you’ll have me.”

She winked, even as her heart tightened unbearably. “I’ll think about it.”

Ruhn grinned before his face turned grave once more. “You know the Autumn King will want to meet with you. Be ready.”

“Doesn’t getting a bunch of fancy-ass power mean I don’t have to obey anyone? And just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I forgive him.” She would never do that.

“I know.” Ruhn’s eyes gleamed. “But you need to be on your guard.”

She arched a brow, tucking away the warning, and said, “Hunt told me about the mind-reading.” He’d mentioned it briefly—along with a recap of the Summit and everything that had gone down—on the walk up to the roof.

Ruhn glared at the adjacent rooftop where Hunt stood. “Athalar has a big fucking mouth.”

One she’d like to put to good use on various part of her body, she didn’t say. She didn’t need Ruhn puking on her clean clothes.

Ruhn went on, “And it’s not mind-reading. Just … mind-talking. Telepathy.”

“Does dear old Dad know?”

“No.” And then her brother said into her head, And I’d like to keep it that way.

She started. Creepy. Kindly stay the fuck out of my head, brother.

Gladly. His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen before wincing. “I gotta take this.”

Right, because they all had work to do to get this city to rights—starting with tending to the dead. The sheer number of Sailings would be … she didn’t want to think about it.

Ruhn let the phone ring again. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said, smirking. “I’ll get your name added to the guest list.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a fucking hotshot.” He rolled his eyes and answered the call. “Hey, Dec.” He strode down the street to where Flynn waited, throwing Bryce a parting grin.

Bryce looked to the rooftop across the street. Where the angel still waited for her, a shadow against the night.

But no longer the Shadow of Death.

Chapter Ninety-Seven

97

Hunt stayed at the Comitium barracks that night. Bryce had lost track of the hours they’d worked, first through the night, then into the cloudless day, and finally at sunset she’d been dragging so much that he’d ordered Naomi to fly her home. And presumably ordered her to stand watch, since a dark-winged figure still stood on the adjacent rooftop in the gray light before dawn, and a peek into Hunt’s room revealed that his bed remained made.