The underground had changed—but not as much as they liked to think. New kings, same shadows. Same whispers. And one name still came up in hushed tones and annoyed growls.

Alexei.

Uriel adjusted his gloves, stepped out of the flickering corridor light and into the backroom of a bar too old to be fashionable. He didn’t flinch at the sudden hush, didn’t blink at the recognition in the bartender’s eyes.

He wasn’t here for the drinks. He was here to finish what they started.

And maybe—just maybe—to see if Alexei still hated him as much as he claimed. (He didn’t.)