Page 188 of Fractured Devotion
She glances at me, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t want a way back,” she says simply.
Her words settle deep, cutting through everything I thought I knew about her.
She’s already burned her bridges.
And she has no intention of stopping.
The terminal beeps softly, indicating the purge is nearing completion.
Sixty-three minutes remaining.
“We leave as soon as it finishes,” she says.
I nod, adrenaline coiling tight in my chest. “And after that?” I ask, my voice rough.
She turns fully toward me, her expression unreadable but fierce. “Then we go after Meridian,” she says.
Her voice holds no room for mercy.
“We take down their empire, Kade,” she continues, her tone cold and calculated. “And we make sure no one like them ever rises again.”
I stare at her, at the fire in her eyes.
And I realize, maybe for the first time, that I’m not just watching her wage war. I’m standing in it with her.
And I have no plans to walk away.
“Then we finish what we started,” I say.
She holds my gaze for one long second.
Then she turns back to the screen, watching as the last of the local data crumbles.
Her voice is calm and steady. “We can’t stay here.”
I nod, already pulling up a secure line to lock down the remaining traces and seal the system. “Sixty-three minutes left. That gives us enough time to vanish.”
“Good,” she says, her tone razor-sharp. “We find a place to watch it all burn. Somewhere safe.”
We leave the room together, moving fast through the dim corridors of the clinic and slipping through staff exits without a trace.
Fifteen minutes later, we find a worn-down motel on the outskirts, the kind of place no one asks questions. A flickering vacancy sign welcomes us into anonymity.
Inside the room, she locks the door and draws the curtains tight.
We sit on the edge of the bed, side by side, the laptop glowing between us.
The timer keeps counting down.
And as we watch the numbers fall, we know there’s no turning back.
The war isn’t coming.
It’s already here.
Chapter 53 – Celeste - Countdown Residue
Morning sun presses against the motel blinds, casting pale stripes across the worn carpet. The air smells faintly of dust and faded cigarette smoke. I sit on the edge of the small, battered table, watching the purge countdown tick away on the terminal we brought from the clinic.
