Page 28 of Fractured Devotion
So I stay silent. For now.
My shift ends two hours later. I finish the last round in trauma bay, hand off to the night lead, and head toward the elevator. My limbs are heavy, not from fatigue but from the weight of things unsaid.
As I step outside, the corridor stretches long and empty. But near the far end, caught in the fading blue of security lights, someone moves.
Kade.
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, unreadable as ever.
Our eyes meet.
But no words pass between us.
None are needed.
I walk away.
Chapter 11 – Kade - Veiled Designs
The night presses against the rain-slicked glass of my new apartment, smeared with the hush of drizzle that never quite becomes a storm. This building wasn’t mine until recently.
I told Dr. Felix Rourke that the move was strategic. Closer access to the assignment and an easier reach to Miramont if anything urgent broke the surface. He signed off without hesitation.
It was a lie.
Though not entirely.
The building sits almost equidistant between the clinic and Celeste’s primary residence. It’s close enough that I can walk the path she takes. It’s also close enough that I can catch sight of her most mornings and evenings, her steps familiar and her expression unreadable as she walks to and from the clinic.
She hasn’t used the clinic apartment in days. Not since that early morning visit when she lingered outside the door with a strange tension in her posture. I thought she might have suspected something then, but no formal complaints were filed, and nothing was said aloud. There was only that brief conversation with Alec—the one where she mentioned the drawer. Just that.
I still don’t have access to the inside of her primary apartment.
Not direct access, at least.
Not yet.
But enough.
Enough to catch the tilt of her silhouette, bent at her desk, her shoulders hunched as if weighed down by ghosts.
Enough to count the nights she doesn’t sleep.
Like tonight.
She came home late, took slow steps up the narrow concrete steps, and paused at her door. She didn’t look up. But I watched from across the street, the camera feed flickering as it caught the reflection of her entrance light in the rain.
She’s inside now.
I can’t see her exactly, only shadows and movement. The brush of someone pacing, a light flickering on, then off, and a glass raised, untouched. The curtain never opens, but I know her shape too well now to mistake it for anything else.
She’s not resting. Not properly.
And I can’t look away.
My apartment is utilitarian by design, with dark walls, colder furniture, and nothing to distract or delay. I sit with the feeds playing mutedly against the wall. My body is still, but my mind spins in tight, perfect circuits.
The confrontation with Alec earlier still grates like a sharp edge under my skin. He didn’t tell her about the logs and didn’t mention what I saw him reading. That means he’s protecting himself, or protecting her. Either way, it confirms what I already suspected.
