Page 102 of Fractured Devotion
I look up from my console, still holding a stylus mid-air, the glow of Echo’s neuro-feedback interface fading into grayscale as my focus drifts. One by one, the ambient sounds inside the clinic flatten until all I can hear is the thunder of my pulse.
Something’s wrong.
I rise slowly, my legs resisting the movement like they already know.
My door cracks open before I can reach it.
Mara’s face peers in, drained of color, her voice clipped. “Dr. Varon, you need to come out here.”
She doesn’t explain, but she doesn’t have to. Not when her eyes refuse to meet mine.
I follow her into the main corridor.
Half the clinic has gathered like shadows bleeding into one another. Nurses whisper behind latex gloves, an intern presses a trembling hand to his mouth, and there, in the center, Reyes stands stiff, his eyes locked on the double glass doors that lead to the south courtyard.
A body bag rests on the gurney just beyond.
The hallway contracts around me, cold and still.
“Who?” I ask, even though I already know.
Reyes doesn’t turn when he murmurs, “Harper DuVall. She was found in the courtyard just before dawn. Fall trauma. No pulse when security reached her.”
The words slip free with the weight of news he wishes he didn’t have to give.
For a moment, the clinic’s humming fluorescence feels like miles away. The walls are too thin, and my skin is too small.
“No note?” I manage.
“Nothing definitive.” Reyes finally meets my gaze. “It’s been logged as a suicide.”
Of course it has.
I nod, or maybe I don’t. I can’t tell what my body is doing.
Mara’s hand touches my arm, her touch featherlight. I shrug it off without meaning to.
Later, I’m not sure how long I stand there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Long enough for the gurney to be wheeled away. Long enough for the crowd to scatter, whispers mutating into half-truths.
But I don’t move.
Because all I can think about is the last time I saw Harper—tense, tired, and chewing the inside of her cheek as she worked. She’d seemed… off. But I hadn’t asked.
Because I didn’t want to know.
Because I was too busy unraveling in silence.
Now she’s gone, and the silence feels like guilt.
Hours later, I’m back in my office with the blinds half drawn and the lights dimmed, nursing a headache that’s bloomed like smoke behind my eyes.
I stay in my office throughout the day, thinking about Harper and not stepping out. It gnaws at the edges of every thought—how fast it happened, how easily a life can vanish, and how the city swallows its ghosts without a sound.
At the end of the day, a knock cuts through the stillness.
“Kade,” I say flatly without even looking.
The door opens, and he’s there, clean and calm. Like nothing ever touches him for long. His gaze moves over me carefully, as if he’s measuring how far I’ve cracked.
