Page 101 of Fractured Devotion
So I step forward, not with rage, but with stillness.
She doesn’t retreat.
And I push.
She falls faster than I expect.
A sickening silence drags on before the thud.
There’s no scream and not a cry. Just a body reduced to consequence.
I stay at the edge for a beat too long, watching the dark patch spread like ink around her twisted frame.
My pulse is steady, unmoved. There is no regret. Only the itch of exposure. And the crackle of risk.
I step back, breathing evenly and dragging my thoughts into order. I’ve done this before. I’ve cleansed problems and removed rot. But never this close to the center. Never where it could ripple back.
Which makes this messier.
And I fucking hate messy.
By the time I re-enter the stairwell, I’m already cataloging what needs erasure. Stairwell sensor logs, timestamp triggers, and anything that might show my path leading to the rooftop. I confirm there are no cameras covering the side where it happened. Still, I scrub every access point that could raise questions.
In my terminal, I stitch a soft ghost sequence—motion blurs and low-light distortions. I render her alone, isolated, and melancholic, her body language altered slightly in post-frame. Enough to suggest sadness and enough to make suicide plausible.
It’s delicate work, but not perfect.
But perfect isn’t the point.
Believable is enough.
The digital trace fades by 2:33 a.m. I wipe the last terminal echo and reset the elevator log to show a normal, unremarkable night.
Then I head home, back to the screens. All of them.
Celeste is still asleep, but her body’s turned. Her face is half buried in the pillow, her brows pinched. Something is chasing her in her sleep.
I brush two fingers across the monitor as though I could smooth the dream lines from here.
“You’re safe now,” I whisper. “I took care of it.”
She stirs but doesn’t wake.
Tomorrow, someone will find Harper, and there will be gasps and protocols. But no questions that matter.
And if Alec tries to dig?
Let him.
I’ve always been good at staying just out of reach.
Chapter 33 – Celeste - Beneath the Skin
It starts with footsteps.
Rapid and confused, too many of them clattering down the corridor just outside my office.
Then comes the silence, the kind that pulses with what it doesn’t say.
