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“What else is there to say? They infected the waters of Midgard with it. It’s in all of us. It forces us to make the Drop, otherwise it sucks away our power.”
“Excuse me?” Ruhn blurted.
Bryce sighed. And explained it again.
All of it, this time—from the start. Arriving in the other world, being held in the dungeon. Escaping and traveling the tunnels with Azriel and Nesta. Then what she’d learned in that secret chamber: of the world of the Fae, of the Daglan, of Theia and Fionn and Pelias, of Silene and Helena, of Hel’s assistance. Of claiming Silene’s power, and how her own starlight now felt different. Then the encounter with Vesperus and stealing Truth-Teller from Azriel.
It took an hour to explain it all, though she omitted any mention of the Mask or the Trove. The fewer people who knew about them, the better. When she got to the part about how she’d been able to zero in on Hunt and jump right to him, his eyes gleamed, so full of love that her chest ached.
Ruhn had been silent through all of it, though his phone buzzed frequently while she spoke. She had a feeling that he was getting updates from someone about Lidia’s current state.
Hunt leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. He exhaled a long breath. “Okay. That is … a lot. Just give me a moment.”
Bryce absently rubbed at her chest, the eight-pointed star scar there. She said quietly, “Tell me what happened here. Please.”
* * *
Bryce needed a minute when they finished.
Ten minutes, actually.
She left the room with a quiet “I’m so sorry” and then she was in the hall, stomach churning, breath stalling—
“Bryce,” Hunt said from a few steps behind, boots thudding on the tiled floor.
She couldn’t turn to face him. She’d left them, and they had suffered so much—
“Quinlan,” he growled. His hand wrapped around her elbow, halting her. The hall was empty, its window overlooking the crushing black sea beyond the glass.
“Bryce,” he said again, and gently turned her. She couldn’t stop her face from crumpling.
Hunt was there in an instant, wrapping her in his arms, wings folding around them, surrounding her with that familiar, beckoning scent of rain on cedar.
“Shhh,” he whispered, and she realized she’d begun crying, the full force of all that had happened to him, to her, crashing down.
Bryce slid her arms around his waist, clinging tight. “I was so worried—”
“I’m fine.”
She scanned his face, his silver-lined eyes. “Those dungeons weren’t … fine, Hunt.”
“I survived.”
But shadows darkened his face with the words. He bowed his head, leaning his brow against hers. That hateful halo pressed against her skin. “Barely,” he admitted. She tightened her arms around him, shaking. “The thought of you kept me going.”
He might as well have punched her in the heart. “You kept me going, too.”
“Yeah?” The love in his voice threatened to shatter her heart. “I knew these smoldering good looks would come in handy one day.”
She laughed brokenly. Lifted a hand to his face and traced its strong, beautiful lines.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and the pain in the words nearly knocked her to the ground.
“For what?”
He shut his eyes, throat bobbing. “For getting us into this mess.”
She pulled back. “You? You got us into this mess?”
