Micah twisted toward the CBD, assessing the river breeze, his pristine wings twitching. He said to Isaiah, “Be in my office in an hour.”

Isaiah bowed at the waist to the Archangel, a Pangeran gesture that made Hunt’s hackles rise. He’d been forced to do that, at the risk of having his feathers pulled out, burned off, sliced apart. Those initial decades after the Fall had not been kind.

The wings he knew were mounted to the wall in the Asteri throne room were proof.

But Isaiah had always known how to play the game, how to stomach their protocols and hierarchies. How to dress like them, dine and fuck like them. He’d Fallen and risen back to the rank of commander because of it. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if Micah recommended that Isaiah’s halo be removed at the next Governors’ Council with the Asteri after the Winter Solstice.

No assassinating, butchering, or torturing required.

Micah didn’t so much as glance at them before he shot into the skies. Within seconds he’d become a white speck in the sea of blue.

Isaiah blew out a breath, frowning toward the spires atop the five towers of the Comitium, a glass-and-steel crown rising from the heart of the CBD.

“You think there’s a catch?” Hunt asked his friend.

“He doesn’t scheme like that.” Like Sandriel and most of the other Archangels. “He means what he says. He’s got to be desperate, if he wants to give you that kind of motivation.”

“He owns me. His word is my command.”

“With Sandriel coming, maybe he realized it’d be advantageous if you were inclined to be … loyal.”

“Again: slave.”

“Then I don’t fucking know, Hunt. Maybe he was just feeling generous.” Isaiah shook his head again. “Don’t question the hand Urd dealt you.”

Hunt blew out a breath. “I know.” Odds were, the truth was a combination of those things.

Isaiah arched a brow. “You think you can find whoever is behind this?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Not with this new bargain on the table. He tasted the dry wind, half listening to its rasping song through the sacred cypresses lining the street below—the thousands of them in this city planted in honor of its patron goddess.

“You’ll find them,” Isaiah said. “I know you will.”

“If I can stop thinking about Sandriel’s visit.” Hunt blew out a breath, dragging his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe she’s coming here. With that piece of shit Pollux.”

Isaiah said carefully, “Tell me you realize that Micah threw you another big fucking bone just now in stationing you to protect Quinlan instead of keeping you around the Comitium with Sandriel there.”