"I contain multitudes," Ruby whispers.
I tape it dead center above his head, where he'll see it the second the morphine haze lifts.
Ruby pulls out her phone, then bows to the bed. "May your life be long and deeply uncomfortable."
Ruby snaps picture after picture. "For the archives," she mutters. "For girls' night. The group chat. When Darla needs a laugh. For when I need bail."
"Do not post that anywhere," I hiss.
"Of course not," she says, scandalized. "I'm not a monster. These are for educational purposes."
"Of what?"
"How not to fuck with our family," she replies sweetly.
Frankie watches me instead of Trent. Her gaze is sharp, but not unkind. Witchy and weighing. Something in my chest loosens a notch, but no more. A laugh slips out, small and startled. Wrong and right at the same time.
Frankie's mouth curves, the barest hint of a smile. She steps close enough that only I can hear. "Storm around you's shifting," she murmurs. "Hold on to the ones who anchor you."
Ruby swings an arm around both our shoulders. "Come on, coven. Before Princess Tinkles wakes up and starts ringing for more pain meds."
We slip out the back hall, quiet as shadows, leaving Trent Moreland glittering and labeled behind us. Whatever Malachi and the boys have planned for him once he's discharged is above my pay grade. This part was ours.
For the first time all day, my chest doesn't feel like it's caving in.
My shift ends an hour later. I text Knox: Done. Coming out.
Knox is waiting beside his bike in the visitor lot. Huge under the streetlamps. Solid. Immoveable. Cut dark against his shirt. His eyes find me instantly and hold. He looks like he hasn't slept. He keeps his hands at his sides. That tells me everything.
"Sloane." Just my name, rough and waiting.
"I handled it."
"I know you did. That's not what I'm asking about." I pivot toward the bike, needing motion, air, anything. He follows, catching my wrist gently. "Sloane."
"I'm tired."
"You're shutting me out."
"It was a rough day."
"You're not talking to me."
"I don't want to fight."
"I don't want to fight either," he snaps, then flinches at his tone. Drags a hand through his hair. "I'm sick of being kept out. I'm sick of you thinking I can't handle your past when mine sure as hell isn't clean either."
I stop. Knox never talks about his past. Ever. So when he does, I listen.
"What?" I breathe.
He looks away. "I'm just saying… you're not the only one carrying shit."
My stomach drops. I don't want him opening wounds for me. I don't want him confessing things I can't return.
"Knox," I whisper. "Please just… take me to East's."
He studies me. For a heartbeat, I think he might push. But he doesn't. Just nods. "Get on."