House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,133

got to tie together somehow.”

Hunt set down his phone. “Maybe Philip Briggs will enlighten us tonight.”

Her head snapped up. “Tonight?”

Lehabah completely stopped watching her show at that.

“Just got the message from Viktoria. They transferred him from Adrestia. We’re meeting him in an hour in a holding cell under the Comitium.” He surveyed the data spread before them. “He’s going to be difficult.”

“I know.”

He leaned back in the chair. “He’s not going to have nice things to say about Danika. You sure you can handle hearing his kind of venom?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because that vase just set you off, and I doubt coming face-to-face with this guy is going to be any easier.”

The walls began swelling around her. “Get out.” Her words cut between them. “Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean you’re entitled to push into my personal matters.”

Hunt merely looked her over. Saw all of that. But he said roughly, “I want to head to the Comitium in twenty. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Bryce trailed Hunt out, making sure he didn’t touch any of the books and that they didn’t grab for him, then shut the door before he’d fully walked onto the street beyond.

She sank against the iron until she sat on the carpet, and braced her forearms on her knees.

They were gone—all of them. Thanks to that demon depicted on an ancient vase. They were gone, and there would be no more wolves in her life. No more hanging out in the apartment. No more drunken, stupid dancing on street corners, or blasting music at three in the morning until their neighbors threatened to call the 33rd.

No friends who would say I love you and mean it. Syrinx and Lele came creeping in, the chimera curling up beneath her bent legs, the sprite lying belly-down on Bryce’s forearm.

“Don’t blame Athie. I think he wants to be our friend.”

“I don’t give a shit what Hunt Athalar wants.”

“June is busy with ballet, and Fury is as good as gone. Maybe it’s time for more friends, BB. You seem sad again. Like you were two winters ago. Fine one minute, then not fine the next. You don’t dance, you don’t hang out with anyone, you don’t—”

“Leave it, Lehabah.”

“Hunt is nice. And Prince Ruhn is nice. But Danika was never nice to me. Always biting and snarling. Or she ignored me.”

“Watch it.”

The sprite crawled off her arm and floated in front of her, arms wrapping across her round belly. “You can be cold as a Reaper, Bryce.” Then she was gone, whizzing off to stop a thick leather-bound tome from crawling its way up the stairs.

Bryce blew out a long breath, trying to piece the hole in her chest together.

Twenty minutes, Hunt had said. She had twenty minutes before going to question Briggs. Twenty minutes to get her shit together. Or at least pretend she had.

35

The fluorescent wands of firstlight hummed through the white-paneled, pristine corridor far beneath the Comitium. Hunt was a storm of black and gray against the shining white tiles, his steps unfaltering as he aimed for one of the sealed metal doors at the end of the long hall.

A step behind him, Bryce simply watched Hunt move—the way he cut through the world, the way the guards in the entry room hadn’t so much as checked his ID before waving them through.

She hadn’t realized that this place existed beneath the five shining towers of the Comitium. That they had cells. Interrogation rooms.

The one she’d been in the night Danika had died had been five blocks from here. A facility governed by protocols. But this place … She tried not to think about what this place was for. What laws stopped applying once one crossed over the threshold.

The lack of any scent except bleach suggested it was scrubbed down often. The drains she noted every few feet suggested—

She didn’t want to know what the drains suggested.

They reached a room without windows, and Hunt laid a palm against the circular metal lock to its left. A hum and hiss, and he shouldered open the door, peering inside before nodding to her.

The firstlights above droned like hornets. What would her own firstlight go toward, small mote that it would be? With Hunt, the explosion of energy-filled light that had probably erupted from him when he’d made the Drop had likely gone toward fueling an entire city.

She sometimes wondered about it: whose firstlight was powering her phone, or the stereo, or her coffee machine.

And now was not the time to think about