The ground feels unsteady beneath my feet. "Sold," I repeat, like the word is foreign.
"Auction," Knox says quietly. "Her father set it up. She fought off the buyer—Trent—and ran. She's with East. Hurt, but safe."
A buzzing fills my ears. I grip the counter so hard my knuckles whiten. "Who was the buyer?"
He hesitates. "Sloane—"
"Tell me."
"Trent Moreland."
My vision narrows until the room fades around the edges. Trent. I know that name the way you know a scar by touch. He used to show up at my father's auctions. Never bid, neverbought. Just watched, eyes crawling over the girls, drink in hand, enjoying the show. The kind of man who made my skin itch even in a room full of monsters.
Knox must hear the way my breath snaps. "Sloane? Talk to me. What does Trent Moreland mean to you?"
"Nothing." Too fast. Too flat.
"Bullshit."
"Knox." The single word is cold enough to frost glass.
"Don't lock me out of this," he snaps and instantly sucks in a sharp breath.
I swallow the iron taste of panic. "Just tell me why you're calling."
"Trent," he says quietly. "He's in your hospital. Malachi wants his stay to be… memorable." Knox continues, voice low and careful, the way he gets when he's holding something volatile. "He wants to know if you, with Ruby and Frankie, can handle it."
I go still. Absolutely still. Of course Malachi figured out who could cause the most damage with the fewest traces. Of course Knox called me the second he heard.
"I'll handle things here."
"Sloane—"
"I'll text Ruby. And Frankie. I'll tell them when I'm ready." My voice comes out steady, steadier than it should be.
"Baby, talk to me—"
"I have to go," I whisper, and hang up.
Trent Moreland. Going after Darla the same way he… No. I shut the thought down before it can form teeth.
I find my supervisor and request to be added to the rotation for the new ICU admit. She doesn't question me. Nurses work with whom they're comfortable with, and I'm good at projecting capability even when I'm cracking.
When the chart finally hits my hands, the name stares back. Moreland, Trent A. My hands go still on the chart. I read the name twice to make sure my eyes aren't lying.
I tuck the chart under my arm and text Ruby a single word. Ready.
Her response comes instantly, an explosion of emojis. Ruby: LET'S RUIN A MAN. Frankie's grabbing gear.
Let's ruin a man. Yeah. Let's.
On the way to Trent's floor, I duck into Pediatrics and pocket a pair of fake lashes confiscated from a seven-year-old who did not need that much glam at 9 a.m.
Ruby and Frankie arrive at the same time, practically colliding into the stairwell door. Ruby looks like a glitter grenade detonated on a human. Frankie looks like midnight dressed itself in black lipstick and decided to walk among mortals. She's got a black tote slung over one shoulder.
Both have the exact same expression. Mischief sharpened into purpose.
Ruby wiggles her fingers. "Lead the way, Nurse Assassin."
