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I end the call and notice several missed calls from Morti.

Then I hear the shower in Lana’s bedroom humming, and I decide to go back there.

I see the mattress empty on her side. I drop back onto the bed next to Brox and nudge his shoulder.

“Wake up.”

He looks rough—his shirt is filthy, dirt smudged near his collar, specks of blood all over it. His hair is a mess. He blinks and tries to figure out where he is.

“What?” His voice is gravel.

“You going downstairs tonight?”

He stares at me for a second without processing the question. Sleep still holds him. He looks down at the empty space where Lana was lying and then at the blanket still warm from her body. He must have heard the shower because his shoulders loosen.

“I’m still asleep,” he mutters. “Give me a minute before I answer anything.”

The bathroom door opens.

Lana steps into the room wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down her spine, cheeks flushed from heat and fresh water. There is no smile, or anything. She doesn’t even look at us.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“G-good,” she says, “Thank you.”

Brox and I exchange a glance.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“Yes,” she insists. “I’m good.”

I look at her, my mind scanning through all possibilities— adrenaline, temporary stimulant persistence, rapid withdrawal, clean metabolism, no crash yet.

“I need you to hear this, cupcake,” Brox says. “Morales acted on her own.”

“W-what time is it?” She asks, ignoring the statement entirely.

“Did you not hear what Brox just said?” She might be shaken, but hierarchy hasn’t changed. Mistakes were made, yes—but she’s still ours.

Her eyes shift to me, then to Brox.

“I heard you,” she says, her breath unsteady. “And I don’t care. I really don’t. This is the second time I’ve nearly died here. The second time someone has dragged me somewhere against my will.” Her eyes brim with tears. “You call yourselves the mighty Boars, but where is the safety? Where is the protection? Where is the control?”

Tears streak over her lashes, sliding down her face.

“I thought being with you meant being protected. I thought being inside the Boarpit meant I mattered, that you watch my back. But all I’ve seen are security failures and… and a ruthless Mafia organization that can’t enforce its own rules. And I’m the one who pays for it every single time.” Her voice breaks, and she presses her trembling hands over her face, trying to stop the sobs pushing through. “I can’t keep surviving your chaos.”

“Hey, hey, come here,” I say, crossing the room to where she stands shaking. I pull her body into my arms.

Every word lands where it’s meant to. Not as accusation, but as fact. She isn’t wrong, about the danger, the failures, the cracks we left open and called control. What we built worked for us. It worked for the pets before her, because they fit inside the rules we built. Lana is a pet. And she isn’t. That contradiction is where we failed her. We applied old safeguards to something new, something living and volatile, and the cost of that misjudgment nearly killed her. She paid for our arrogance with her body, her fear, her breath caught between life and death–twice.

Brox rises too and folds himself around her from the other side. That’s what finally fractures her resolve. Her sobs break wide open, loud and helpless. We hold her tight, and when Brox meets my eyes over her shoulder, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’m sorry,” she cries into our chests, her arms finally wrapping around both of us. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” I murmur, stroking her hair, tightening my hold on her. I lift my head and meet Brox’s gaze, and there’s no argument between us, only the same, ugly truth settling in. “We failed you.”

Brox nods once, his jaw set. “We should’ve protected you. We didn’t.”