He’d planned to meet them here this afternoon. Had intended to hone the sword, clean and inspect his guns, and then cap the day off with a City Head meeting to discuss the new Archangel.
A normal day, in other words. Except for the colossal, life-threatening shit that had just gone down. Incredibly, the Prince of the Chasm was the least of his problems.
“Out with it,” Flynn said without halting work on his handgun.
“What?” Ruhn asked, pulling the blade away.
Declan answered, “Whatever has kept you standing there in silence for ten minutes, not even complaining about Flynn’s shitty playlist.”
“Asshole,” Flynn said to Dec, nodding toward where his phone blasted heavy metal. “This stuff is poetry.”
“They’ve done studies where plants wither up and die when exposed to this music,” Declan countered. “Which is precisely how I feel right now.”
Flynn chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re brooding about one of three things: horrible daddy, baby sister, or pretty fiancée.”
“None of them, dickhead,” Ruhn said, slumping into the chair across the table from them. He glanced to the doors, listening. When he was assured no one occupied the hall beyond, he said, “My lunch hour began with finding the Prince of the Chasm in feline form at Bryce’s apartment, where he revealed that Cormac is an Ophion rebel, and it ended with learning that Cormac is on the hunt for a missing kid and the kid’s spy sister. Who happens to be Cormac’s girlfriend. And he’s basically threatened to tell my father about my mind-speaking gifts if I don’t meet him at some bar to hear his pitch for how I can be of use to Ophion.”
His friends gaped. Declan said carefully, “Is everyone … alive?”
“Yes,” Ruhn said, sighing. “I was sworn to secrecy, but …”
“So long as you didn’t swear a blood oath, who cares?” Flynn said, gun forgotten on the table beside him.
“Trust me, Cormac tried. I refused.”
“Good,” Dec said. “Tell us everything.”
They were the only two people in the world Ruhn would trust with this knowledge. Bryce—and Hunt—would kick his ass for saying anything, but too fucking bad. They had each other to vent to. So Ruhn opened his mouth and explained.
“And … that’s where I’m at,” Ruhn finished, toying with the ring through his lip.
Flynn rubbed his hands together. “This should be exciting.” He was totally serious. Ruhn gawked at him.
But Declan was eyeing him thoughtfully. “I once hacked into an imperial military database and saw the uncensored footage from the battlefields and camps.” Even Flynn’s smile vanished. Declan went on, red hair gleaming in the firstlights, “It made me sick. I dreamed about it for weeks afterward.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ruhn asked.
“Because there was nothing to be done about it. It seemed that way, at least.” Declan nodded, as if to himself. “Whatever you need, I’m in.”
“That easy, huh?” Ruhn said, brows lifting.
“That easy,” Dec answered.
Ruhn had to take a moment. He had no idea what god he’d pleased enough to warrant being blessed with such friends. They were more than friends. They were his brothers. Ruhn finally said hoarsely, “We get caught, and we’re dead. Our families with us.” He added to Dec, “And Marc.”
“Trust me, Marc would be the first one to say Hel yes to this. He hates the Asteri.” Dec’s smile turned subdued. “But … yeah, I think it’s safer if he doesn’t know.” He frowned at Flynn. “Can you keep quiet?”
Flynn made an outraged sound.
“You talk when you’re wasted,” Ruhn chimed in. But he knew Flynn was a steel vault when he wanted to be.
Declan’s voice deepened into a ridiculous mockery of Flynn as he said, “Oh, sexy nymph-writer, look at your boobs, they’re so round, they remind me of these bombs the Aux is hiding in their armory in case of—”
“That was not what fucking happened!” Flynn hissed. “She was a reporter, first of all—”
“And it was twenty years ago,” Ruhn cut him off before this could descend into further insanity. “I think you learned your lesson.”
Flynn glowered. “So what now? You’re going to go meet Cormac and hear him out?”
Ruhn blew out a breath and began cleaning the sword in earnest. Bryce was going to go ballistic. “I don’t see how I have any other choice.”