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“Your cousin still working the night beat?” A flicker of communication passes between them before Remy stands, capping the pen.

He sticks it behind his ear. “I’m on it.”

“Who’s his cousin?” Wicker asks, watching Maddox pull out his phone and exit the room.

“Someone who can keep Ashby busy handling a reported break-in at home for a while.”

“Thank you.” I exhale, knowing it won’t matter in the long term, but we need a minute with Verity to figure out exactly what happened—and what we’re going to do next.

Maddox is gone for ten minutes, and in that space of time, I notice their Duchess watching me, her eyes hard and penetrating. “She said you were trying to do the right thing.” Her stare wanders over my face like she’s searching for some truth. “You were running from him, weren’t you?”

If they find out about the dungeon, we’ll lose her for good. “That’s family business,” I say, glaring.

Nick Bruin stares me down. “The family business of taking people?”

“You know,” Maddox drawls as he returns, loping casually back to the group, “this is all really interesting, actually. A lot of girls are going missing lately.”

“A couple on your territory,” Mama B unhelpfully adds. She won’t even look at us.

Maddox pulls the marker out from behind his ear and twirls it between his fingers. “The three of you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

The accusation is crystal clear, and it makes Wicker straighten, the line of his jaw hardening. “What are you implying?”

Mama B finally looks at him, her expression turning to ice. “He’s not implying anything. He’s saying it outright.”

“You tried to kidnap a girl tonight,” Maddox says, pointing the tip of his marker at us. “From where I'm standing, that makes you the most obvious suspects yet.”

It’s a shame we had to dump all our weapons before being allowed entry into the ward because I’d like nothing more than to put a knife to this fucker’s throat. “Then stand somewhere else,” I grit out, “because we didn’t try to kidnap a girl tonight. We tried to save our own.”

“It wasn’t them,” Ballsack suddenly says. He’s sitting between Wicker and Perilini—his King—the separation of our houses and his position caught between them more obvious than ever. “I don’t know what happened to Stella, but I know the Princes had nothing to do with it.”

Perilini sighs, cutting him a sympathetic glance. Something tells me this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. “You can’t be sure.”

“Yes, I can.” Ballsack pulls something from his pocket, holding it out to Simon. “In fact, I’ll stake my Bruin pin on it.”

Wicker and I share a look at the reaction. All the Dukes straighten, looking at their recruit like he basically just said he’s a lizard in a meat suit. It’s a long beat before Perilini reaches out, but he doesn’t take Ballsack’s frat pin.

He pushes his hand down instead. “If you say it’s not them, I’ll believe you.” He slides me a narrow-eyed sneer. “Or try to.”

I’m not entirely sure why Ballsack would bother vouching for us. Stella was good to Verity, and she was good at her job. She never kicked up a fuss. In a way that none of us were used to, the two of them blew into the palace like a tornado and filled it with life. The twenty hours he and I spent pouring over footage hardly makes up for one simple fact.

We could have tried harder to find her.

“Ballsack,” I call, knowing how I’d feel if it’d been Verity. I wait for his tired eyes to meet mine before nodding. “I’m sorry.”

His mouth presses into a tense, joyless grin. “Funny, isn't it? How easily you’ll say it to me, but it’s taken you months to say it to her?”

It’s loaded, but isn’t everything tonight? It’s like we’re walking on the edge of a knife. Thank Christ, I’m saved from replying when Lex walks into the room. It takes me a moment to realize it’s even him because he’s in a pair of scrubs now, his hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail.

Everyone shoots to their feet.

“How is she?” Mama B asks first.

My brother looks like he’s been put through a grinder, his expression drawn and shuttered. “The Princess is conscious and alert,” he says to Mama B more than anyone else. “Both she and the baby are stable.” He turns to me and Wick, lowering his voice. This news is meant for us. “She has a mild placental abruption, but the baby looks good. Strong.”

“What is that?” Lavinia asks. “A placental whatever?”

He lands heavily in a seat, propping his elbows on his knees. “When she fell, the impact separated part of the placenta from her uterus. That means…” I tune him out, unable to focus on anything that isn’t a flood of relief. My ears throb with it, the sound of my pulse deafening.