My mind crashes, like the bad EKG monitor we only use when the other ones are engaged. No, I didn’t actually know that. But I’m certainly beginning to figure it out the hard way. Fear and regret war inside my head as I digest Percy’s words.

And she’s right. I'm in no position to help her. Everything hurts after that motorcycle ride. My eyes are grainy, and I can feel a tension headache building underneath my not nearly as long weave—which I’m sure must look a mess after being stuck underneath the helmet all day.

Also, my empty stomach starts cramping when I try to imagine what she means by “as bad.”

But I keep on asking her questions as I climb out of my dress—mostly to distract myself from the raging dumpster fire my life has become. “So…is that your real name? Percy? I've never met anyone named Percy—woman or man. But I loved those Rick Riordan Percy Jackson books when I was a kid.”

A bittersweet smile fleets across Percy's lips. “Me too. But my name isn’t Percy with a ‘c’ but Persy with an ‘s.’ It's Hades’ idea of a joke. You know, short for Persephone.”

I nod as I pull on the scrub top. It’s easy to understand why he would have given her the nickname beyond the PROPERTY OF stuff. She might not be blonde or Greek, but she’s gorgeous as a goddess princess for sure. And despite the skanky outfit and back tattoo, she has an air of innocence—or at least the air of someone who used to be innocent.

I give her another scan as I pull up the scrub pants. How long has she been with that beautiful underworld god? How long did it take him to dull the light in her brown eyes?

“What’s your real name?” I ask her out loud.

She shifts her eyes away from my concerned gaze. “My real name doesn't matter.”

“It matters,” I say, reaching out for her hand and taking it in mine. “You matter.”

No, I might not be in any position to help her, but I was still a nurse. And in my experience, people like Persy-short-for-Persephone needed to hear they were worth something from an outside source. “If you have a real name that you prefer, I want to use it.”

Persy stares back at me, her eyes no longer so dull and lifeless. She clasps my hand and opens her mouth to speak.

But another woman's voice interrupts before she can.

“Hey, are you the one that came in on the back of Waylon's bike?”