Galen was here.

Deserve this. I really do.

“Nice shirt,” Galen said.

Torin glanced down. The shirt read, “Property of William.” He shrugged. He hadn’t exactly cared what he’d pulled on today—or was it yesterday? Dude. He probably needed a shower.

Fingers snapped in front of his face, and he flipped his gaze back to Galen. His former friend had the same blond hair, same rugged features. White wings once again arched over wide shoulders. But the wings were smaller than Torin remembered, only just growing back.

Hatred should have bloomed in his chest but didn’t. His guilt and misery took up too much room.

Galen stroked a hand through the feathers of one of the wings. “Cronus cut them off before imprisoning me.”

“Poor you. What are you doing here?” Torin threw back another whiskey, welcomed the burn. “Come to kill me? Fine. Do it.” Anything was better than living like this.

As if I’m actually living.

“Not here to fight with you. Was headed back to the fortress when I caught word that you were slumming it. Had to see for myself.”

Torin shrugged. Whatever. Once, this man had stood at his side for everything. Every war, every battle, nearly every moment of their downtime. Inseparable, that’s what they’d been. And Torin might have been able to forgive the betrayal about the box, but not the centuries the guy had spent trying to murder him.

“You can go now.”

Galen’s gaze stayed on him, studying, intent. “Never seen you like this. So moody. When did you acquire a vagina?”

Going to go there. Okay. “I didn’t know you were a misogynist pig. And you don’t know me. Not anymore. Don’t pretend you do.” He picked up another glass. He had them lined up on the table.

Galen knocked the glass out of his hand.

Torin pursed his lips.

“No,” Galen said. “I don’t know you. But you don’t know me, either.”

“Don’t care to learn.”

“Well, you’re going to. All this time, you and the others thought I did what I did out of jealousy or spite, and maybe I did, in part, but you never once considered the fact that I might have cared about Pandora, or that I thought we were making a huge mistake.”

“Please. If that were true, you could have talked to us.”

“I did!” Galen beat his fist against the table. “More than once. But no one would listen.”

He—yeah, he remembered Galen expressing a few concerns. Pandora is one of us, and yet we’re going to hurt her? And what do we really know of this box? What’s inside it? I’ve heard rumors...something dark, twisted...

“Fine. You’re innocent. Of that. But you later took Baden’s head.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Galen muttered.

One day you’ll realize you’ve made a mistake.

Keeley’s voice drifted through his mind once again.

“One day” again.

Can’t deal with this. At a breaking point. “I’m going to ask once more, and if you don’t answer me, I’m just going to start cutting. What are you really doing here?”

Galen was silent for a long while. Another woman walked past their table, stopping to tangle her fingers through the warrior’s hair.

“Aren’t you a pretty one,” she said. When he scowled and pushed her away, she focused her predatory gaze on Torin. His dark expression sent her scampering.

“I want to see Legion. Honey,” Galen corrected. “I can’t concentrate without her. I can’t think of anything but her. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Nothing matters but getting to her, talking to her, holding her, easing her hurts.”

In the skies, Galen had been a major player. Never with the same woman twice. They’d been as exchangeable as socks. Now the man’s despair called to Torin’s own. Like to like.

“You love her,” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“She didn’t do well after the Unspoken Ones attacked the fortress, so Aeron and Olivia took her somewhere else, but I don’t know where.”

Galen scrubbed a hand down his face. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Save your thanks.” Torin signaled for another round of drinks. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re my enemy today, and you’ll be my enemy tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The drinks arrived. But Galen didn’t stand and walk away. Torin pushed one of the glasses in his direction. The warrior claimed it.

They pounded back the alcohol in perfect sync. Probably would have continued on for hours more, but their table was suddenly surrounded by the spiderlike minions Torin so loved. More than he could possibly count. Claws hovered all around him, just waiting to snap.

Torin gave a shooing motion with his fingers. “Leave or suffer.”

“Hades would like a word with you,” one of the creatures announced. “You did not take care of his female.”

“His female!” Torin pounded a fist against the table, and the drinks toppled over. “She’s mine!”

Galen laughed, slurring, “You’re in trouble now, gentlemen.”

Torin jumped to his feet, swayed. “You wanna fight me, fine. But you won’t be happy with the results.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

AFTER KEELEY’S INITIAL bout of sorrow—such a mild word for what she’d felt—a sense of numbness had settled over her. Which was a good thing. She hadn’t destroyed anything. Although she had almost waterlogged the fortress with rain. But almost never counted.