Page 82 of Fractured Devotion
I grip the edge of the counter. “And I’m still wired for it.”
Alec’s jaw tightens. “You’re still reacting to patterns embedded deep. They never turned off the triggers. That’s why you feel watched and why your instincts are screaming.”
“I thought it was trauma,” I say.
“It is. Engineered trauma.”
I want to scream. But instead, I pace.
“They need to be exposed,” I tell Alec.
“I’ll help you gather everything,” Alec says. “We leak it if we have to. But we do it smart.”
A sudden thought strikes. “Have you told anyone else?”
“No. Just you.”
I study him, the tired lines around his eyes, and the weight on his shoulders.
“You’re risking a lot,” I observe.
“So are you.”
We fall into silence again, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken.
I don’t trust him fully. I can’t. But tonight, I need someone who isn’t feeding me curated truths.
And tonight, that someone might be Alec.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, my heart thudding with too many truths packed into too short a span. Alec paces once, then finally sits down across from me, resting his forearms on his knees.
“We need access to Rourke’s inner network,” he says. “It’s air-gapped for a reason. Because that’s where the deepest levels are kept. The original Trial 14 inputs, directives, and the key to whoever’s still running this behind the curtain.”
I blink. “You mean we break into the director’s terminal?”
Alec nods, slowly. “We don’t do it now. Not tonight. But we plan it. I’ll find a window when he’s out, when his system’s idle. That’s our shot.”
I rub my hands over my arms, suddenly aware of how cold the room is. “You said Kade has access to the legacy logs. That he’s too close. You think he’s manipulating me?”
“I think he believes he’s helping you,” Alec says, and something about that answer makes me go still.
“Helping me how?”
Alec hesitates, then speaks like the words are acidic in his mouth. “By conditioning you to trust him, to need him. He might not even realize how deep he’s in.”
My mouth goes dry. I think of the careful way Kade watches me, the questions he doesn’t ask, and the answers he gives just when I need them.
“That’s not protection,” I say, my voice hollow. “That’s programming.”
“Exactly.”
I rise and begin pacing. The motion helps, like moving through fog. I feel betrayed, but more than that, I feel foolish. All the times I thought Kade understood. All the moments I almost leaned into him, trusted him.
“I need air,” I mutter.
Alec watches me. “There’s the stairwell. The top floor’s empty. Roof access is sealed, but it’s quiet.”
I grab a sweater from the back of the chair. “Stay here. I just need five minutes.”
