House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

He shrugged. “I got my answers, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but …” She rubbed at her forehead, skin sticky with the remnants of sweat from her dance class hours ago. Years ago, it seemed.

“I mean, it all sounds fine, doesn’t it? Connor’s in the Bone Quarter, and with a don’t-touch order, so …”

But she could tell, from the way he paced a step, that this didn’t sit well. She squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll find something. Some way to help him.” And everyone else trapped in the eternal slaughterhouse.

It might have been the worst lie she’d ever told, because as Ithan left, he looked like he actually believed her.

“Two weeks isn’t that long,” Isaiah consoled Hunt from across the glass table in the 33rd’s private cafeteria in the Comitium. They sat at the table reserved exclusively for the triarii, next to the wall-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

Normally, Hunt didn’t bother with the cafeteria, but Isaiah had invited him for an early lunch, and he’d needed to talk. He’d barely sat down when he burst out with his recap of his conversation with Celestina.

Hunt bit into his turkey-and-Brie sandwich. “I know it’s not long,” he said around the food, “but …” He swallowed, turning pleading eyes to his friend. “Bryce and I decided not to wait until Winter Solstice.”

Isaiah burst out laughing, the sound rich and velvety. A few soldiers turned their way, then quickly resumed eating their meals. It might have bothered Hunt any other day, but today … “I’m glad you find my blue balls amusing,” he hissed at his friend.

Isaiah laughed again, handsome as Hel in his suit. Given how many meetings he attended with Celestina—and now Ephraim—it was a miracle from Urd that his friend had found the time today to grab lunch with him. “I never thought I’d see the day when the Umbra Mortis came crying to me about a relatively light punishment because it interferes with his sex life.”

Hunt drained his water. Isaiah had a point there. Of all the punishments he’d ever been given, this was the mildest.

Isaiah sobered, voice quieting. “So what happened last night? Everything okay?”

“It’s fine now. Sabine came to the apartment looking for Ithan Holstrom. Bryce got spooked. I arrived in time to convince Sabine not to start shit.”

“Ah,” Isaiah said. Then asked, “And Baxian?”

“He took it upon himself as my so-called partner to provide backup. However unwanted.”

Isaiah snorted. “Points for trying?”

Hunt chuckled. “Sure.”

Isaiah dug into his own food, and for a moment, Hunt’s chest strained with the effort of keeping every truth inside. Isaiah had been with him throughout the Fallen’s rebellion. He’d have valuable insight into this shit with Ophion. Even if his advice was to stay the fuck out of it.

“What’s wrong?” Isaiah asked.

Hunt shook his head. His friend was too good at reading him. “Nothing.” He scrambled for another truth. “It’s weird to think that two weeks without Bryce is a punishment. If I so much as blinked at Sandriel the wrong way, she pulled out my feathers one by one.”

Isaiah shivered. “I remember.” His friend had been the one to bandage his ravaged wings again and again, after all.

“You like working for her? Celestina, I mean?”

Isaiah didn’t hesitate. “Yes. A great deal.”

Hunt blew out a long breath. He couldn’t tell Isaiah. Or Naomi. Because if they knew, even if they agreed to keep the shit with the rebels secret and stay out of it … they’d be killed, too. As it was, they might be tortured a little, but it’d become clear they knew nothing. And they might stand a chance.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Isaiah asked. Kindness shone in his dark eyes. “Even stuff with Celestina. I know it’s weird with the rankings between us, but … I’m the middle man between the 33rd and her. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

He’d never really deserved a friend like Isaiah. “It’s not weird with the rankings between us,” he said. “You’re the leader of the 33rd. I’m happy to work for you.”

Isaiah studied him. “I’m not the one who wields lightning. Or the one with a fancy nickname.”

Hunt waved off the weight of what his friend said. “Trust me, I’d rather you be in charge.”

Isaiah nodded, but before he could reply, silence rippled through the cafeteria. Hunt looked up on instinct, past all the wings and armor. “Great,” he muttered. Baxian, tray in hand, walked toward them. Ignored the soldiers who gave him a wide berth or fell silent entirely as he passed by.

“Play nice,” Isaiah murmured back, and made a show of beckoning the male over. Not for Baxian’s sake, but for that of all the people witnessing this. The soldiers who needed to be presented with a unified leadership.

Hunt finished off his sandwich just as the shape-shifting angel slid into a chair beside Isaiah. Hunt met his stare. “How’d it go with the Hind?” He knew the male could read between his words. Did you talk, you fucker?

“Fine. I know how to handle Lidia.” No, I didn’t, you asshole.

Hunt found Isaiah watching them with raised brows. “What happened with Lidia?”