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“Generous, remember?” Atticus raised a finger to point at himself. “Not gonna do anything if they leave us alone. But if they come after you? I always like to be prepared.”

As if anyone could be prepared for Fenrir Rawkner.

“Prepared?” he repeated, voice low, scratchy—as raw sounding as his face must look. “How cute. Or is it stupid? You can’t possibly be prepared for Fenrir Raw—”

“—General Fenrir Rawkner?” Atticus cut in, eyes glowing. “Lore’s right-hand man? Oh, my sincerest apologies, I can’t say he counts. We already took care of him, after all.”

They…what?

The world slid out from under Orpheus, the stars above Atticus’ head disappearing in real time, like he was watching the night move on without him.

The missing hunter, the smoking stage.

“What did you do?” He hissed.

Atticus rocked back on his heels and cocked his head. “Killed him, of course. Would have liked to bring him in for justice too, but a beast like that can’t be collared. Not like you, see?” Atticus hooked a finger back around the silver ring circling his throat. “Daedra is another Myrkur, like our dear Duluth, except with a mind of her own. She’s been hunting hell beasts her whole life, so who better to take down the Monster of the Rim than her?”

Monster of the Rim? A title like that didn’t come from nowhere. Whoever these people were, they knew Fenrir. His strength. His power. His role in Lore’s war—but also something else. Something Orpheus wasn’t privy to. A detail plucked from the horrible things Fenrir had surely done in service to the Empire he would, eventually, overthrow.

Orpheus blinked, mouth hung open with a hundred questions. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

Atticus’ smile was slow to blossom, a cruel, indulgent thing that made Orpheus’ gut curdle up his throat alongside a hate he had spent the last half-dozen months tempering. “You’ve never met a Myrkur hunter, have you, my unfortunate mage?”

He hadn’t, but that didn’t mean Fenrir was dead. He’d survived the impossible too many times for Orpheus to believe Atticus was doing any more than trying to scare him—mysterious Myrkur or not.

But then, why isn’t he here?

Orpheus shoved the voice away and snarled. “Fenrir isn’t dead.” He spat the word so violently spit flew from his mouth. “He’s coming after me and when he catches up it won’t be me facing death. It’ll be you and whatever shit stain of a civilization you’ve led him to.”

Atticus frowned, released his collar, then punched Orpheus directly in the mouth.

Stars sparked the edges of his vision white while blood flooded his mouth where his teeth had cut through his lower lip. Pain hit a heartbeat later. He gasped with it, a throaty sound that cut off into a whimper when the pain had him curling over his lap. His teeth throbbed alongside his jaw, the heat in his lip swelling quickly into a throb. He tasted blood before his vision cleared, blinking down at the sticky string pooling on the flattened grass where Atticus knelt.

“Remember, mage, I’m trying to be nice, but I won’t abide any threats to my home.”

Orpheus flinched when a hand sank into his hair. He had nowhere to look but into Atticus’ eyes when he dragged his head up.

“So, tell me. Who is coming after you, and what kind of threat do they pose?”

“There isn’t anyone else,” hurt more than the punch, because it was the truth.

Atticus cocked his head like he was trying to figure out if Orpheus was lying, then laughed when he apparently decided he was not. “Well, ain’t that just sad.”

He let go of Orpheus’ hair, then reached down and snapped his left pinky into place.

“Consider that a pity set.” Orpheus fought a scream. “You sure there’s no one else? No jilted lovers? Someone you owe a debt to?”

Orpheus would have laughed if he wasn’t too busy spitting blood and staring down at his mangled hands and—and—

Fenrir wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead.

“Talk to me, mage.”

“I—no—” No, there weren’t other people. Red may be his friend but without Fenrir as their glue how close were they, really? Farris may still hold some kind of misplaced admiration for him but, at the end of the day, Farris never even went after his own daughter when she got snatched out of her cradle—like hell he would come after him. So, who else was there other than Fenrir? What did Atticus truly know if he was asking Orpheus who was dangerous while claiming the most dangerous person of all was already dead?

That’s it, the voice inside Orpheus’ head hissed, That’s all you have protecting you, now.

For all the power Atticus held, his question demonstrated one thing: it was knowledge he lacked.