Ruby peels her arm off her face and squints. "Define honest answer."
Candace huffs out a small laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'll let you know when I have one."
The war room is too quiet. Heavy silence fills the air, the kind that means they're talking about things that stick with you.
My mind drifts, uninvited, back to last night. I haven't been Mercer in years. Changed it the second the ink dried on the marriage certificate. Buried it so deep I thought it would stay dead. But names like that don't die. They just wait. Tessa Rios, looking at me as though I was someone kind. Like "Nurse Mercer" was a good memory.
I'd smiled. Checked her pupils. Counted respirations. Wrote nothing of my reaction down. Elena. Her sister. Loud, bright, the one who made the others laugh even when everything was terrible. Who called me "Nurse Sunshine" when I sat with her at St. Matthew's.
She died three weeks after I left Chicago. I didn't know until I saw it in the news. Overdose, the article said. But I knew better. I knew what happened to girls who fought too hard. Who wouldn't cooperate.
Tessa doesn't know that I was there when it mattered and still ran. That I got out clean while her sister didn't get out at all. Now Tessa is here, and all I could do was check her pupils, count her respirations, and write nothing of my reaction down.
Ruby nudges my foot. "Earth to Sloane. You look like you're halfway through a mental breakdown and forgot to send a calendar invite."
"Just thinking."
Darla tilts her head. "Thinking about last night? Or thinking about whatever Knox and Malachi are cooking up in there?"
"Yes." They accept that.
Time stretches. Maggie moves around the kitchen, the clink of mugs and smell of coffee filling the space. Frankie scribbles in her notepad. Ruby scrolls aimlessly. Candace watches the war room door as though she can burn a hole through it with sheer will.
The door creaks open. The men file back out. Malachi first, eyes sharper, that storm under his skin pushing closer to the surface. Knox beside him, posture locked, mouth set in a line I know too well. Nash, East, Kyle, Rider, James, the rest of the inner circle. Even the prospects look different; serious, ready.
No one speaks right away, but electricity hums between them. A decision has been made.
Ruby pokes the tension first. "Well? Do we at least get a PowerPoint?"
Nash doesn't look at her. "No one is giving you a laser pointer again."
"That was ONE TIME. And the wall recovered."
"The wall still has scorch marks," Darla mutters.
The banter skims over a deeper current. Malachi moves toward Candace, then touches her cheek with rough gentleness. She leans into it.
Knox catches my eye.
Before I can dissect it, Ruby claps her hands, too loud in the charged air. "Okay, this vibe is rancid. We need joy. I demand joy."
"Ruby," Nash warns.
"No, hear me out. War's coming, trauma everywhere, the patriarchy's out there buying bombs or girls or both. You know what we need?"
"Therapy," Frankie offers.
"Therapy and game night," Ruby corrects. "Pictionary. Charades. Losers clean the bathrooms."
Darla pins her with a look. "Ruby, it is not even noon."
"So? Joy knows no curfew, Darla."
Groans roll through the room, but none are real. They all know what she's doing.
Knox exhales, long and put-upon. "Someone hide the markers before she tries to reenact Die Hard again."
"That was iconic and you know it. My Bruce Willis was flawless."
