“Angel,” he repeated. “Owned and trained by Trent Kalamack.”

“You don’t own me!” I squeaked, and Jonathan thunked my carrier.

“Back upstairs, Jon,” Trent said as Jim shook his hand and left. “The noise of these rats is going right through my head.”

I dropped to all fours to steady myself as the carrier swung. “I’m not going to fight, Trent,” I squeaked loudly. “You can just forget it.”

“Oh, do be still, Ms. Morgan,” Trent said softly as we rose. “It’s not as if you haven’t been trained for this. Every runner knows how to kill. Working for me, working for them … There’s no difference. It’s only a rat.”

“I’ve never killed anyone in my life!” I shouted, rattling the gate. “And I’m not going to start for you.” But I didn’t think I had a choice. I couldn’t reason with a rat, tell it there’d been a big mistake and why couldn’t we all just get along?

The noise of the rats dulled under loud conversations as we found the top of the stairs. Trent paused, taking it in. “Look there,” he murmured. “There’s Randolph.”

“Randolph Mirick? Jonathan said. “Haven’t you been trying to arrange a meeting with him about increasing your water rights?”

“Yes.” Trent almost seemed to breathe the word. “For the last seven weeks. He’s apparently a very busy man. And look there. That woman holding that vile little dog? She’s the CEO of the glass factory we’re contracted with. I’d very much like to speak with her about the possibility of getting a volume discount. I had no idea this would be an opportunity to network.”

We drifted into motion, moving through the crowd. Trent kept his conversation light and friendly, showing me off as if I was a prize mule. I huddled in the back of my cage and tried to ignore the sounds the women made at me. My mouth felt like the inside of a hair dryer, and I could smell old blood and urine. And rats.

I could hear them, too, squeaking in voices higher than most people’s hearing. The battles were beginning already, though anyone on two legs couldn’t know it. Bars and plastic might separate the participants, but threats of violence were already being promised.

Trent found a seat next to the freaking mayor of the city, and after tucking me between his feet, he talked to the woman in a sideways fashion about the overall benefits of rezoning his property as industry rather than commercial, seeing as a good portion of his land was used for industrial gain in some way or other. She wasn’t listening until Trent commented he might have to move his more sensitive industries to more friendly pastures.

It was a nightmarish hour. The ultrasonic squeaks and shrieks cut through the lower sounds, going unheard by the crowd. Jonathan kept up a colorful commentary for my benefit, embellishing the monstrosities taking place in the pit. None of the rounds took long—ten minutes at best. The sudden hush followed by the watchers’ wild explosions was barbaric. Soon I could smell the blood Jonathan seemed to enjoy expounding upon, and I was jumping at every shift of Trent’s feet.