The mop slips from my hand as I read the screen.\n\nPatient ID: Lila Voss. Treatment Status: Terminated. Alternate Bidder Selected. Payment Confirmed.\n\nMy knees hit the cold tile, but I don’t feel it. Not like I feel the rage burning through my chest, sharp and familiar. I’ve spent two years silent, invisible, scrubbing floors in this godforsaken hospital just to watch over her. And now they’re selling her death like it’s a fucking collectible.\n\nI stare at the name on the invoice: Dr. Elias Vance, Personal Use. He’s not even sick. He’s bidding for sport.\n\nMy fingers curl into fists. The same hands that once snapped necks in back alleys, that signed execution orders with a red pen—they’re trembling. Not from fear. From hunger.\n\nI whisper into the dark corner of the supply closet, activating a burner phone I haven’t touched in years.\n\n‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘Wake the syndicate.’\n\nThe line crackles. Then silence.\n\nNow I have three choices: break into the pharmacy vault tonight and steal the dose, track down my old lieutenant Jinx for backup, or go straight to Vance’s penthouse and make him beg for mercy before I take it all.