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“She left without her cell,” I counter. “Or dropped it. Or smashed it. You saw her face.”

“I did,” he says. “Which is exactly why I don’t like this.”

“She isn’t stupid enough to vanish entirely,” I insist. “She has a life. A job. A whole legal identity built on not disappearing. She won’t throw that away for one sedative and one bad night.”

Brox studies me for a long moment. The morning light from the windows cuts across his face, highlighting the shadows under his eyes.

“We gave her a night,” he sets his mug down. His fingers tap once against the porcelain. “Now we need her. Don’t forget Alessio’s still in Mercy hospital. Until Lana fixes the details at the hospital, he’ll have to stay put.”

Before I can answer, the elevator pings and we both look over. Sol enters the penthouse, and the second I clock his face, disappointment hits—he’s not the person we’ve been waiting for.

He’s breathing hard, a few drops of sweat are lingering on his temple. He doesn’t apologize.

“Rio,” he says, swallowing once. He respects both of us. He fears me more.

“She’s been reported missing,” he says. “Officially.”

The world tips an inch.

Brox’s fingers go still on the counter. “Who is?”

“Lana. Georgina Rayne.” Sol says. “She had the day shift yesterday. She didn’t show up. No message, no answer. Her colleague Mary tried to reach her, but couldn’t. She went to the supervisor, and they tried again. Nothing. They raised it with the police an hour ago.”

The back of my neck goes cold.

“She was heading to work,” Brox says slowly, realization hitting him at the same time as me. “And she never arrived.”

“They already filed her missing,” I say. My voice sounds distant in my own ears. “That fast?”

“She’s reliable,” Sol replies. “Never missed a shift. Never missed a check-in. They’re worried.”

Sol runs a hand over his head. “Word’s spreading. The name’s on the internal report already. It won’t take long before it hits channels we don’t control.”

Lana is missing.

Not just from my cell. Not just from our club, our beds, our reach. From her world.

Brox goes quiet. Still. In that deadly way that means everything inside him is moving far too fast.

“Morales has her.” Sol growls. “I’m going to kill her!”

“Morales is ours!” Brox barks.

I feel anger inside me. Not the wild burst from last night, when I wanted Morales’ head on the wall for sedating her. Something much worse.

I push away from the counter so hard the stool beside me wobbles. My mug tips, the coffee sloshes over the marble. I don’t even glance at it.

“How long has it been since she walked out of that alley door?” I demand, turning back to Sol.

“Yesterday,” Sol says. “Around this time.”

Twenty-four hours.

We handed her a day. We handed someone a day.

That deep anger unfurls properly now, climbing my spine. My hands curl. I want something in them. A throat. A gun. Morales’ hair wrapped around my fingers while I drag her across the floor.

“Morales has her,” Brox reiterates.