Page 147 of Fractured Devotion
“You think force works on her? It doesn’t. That’s why you needed me in the first place.”
He taps a key on his desk. The lighting shifts subtly. “Remind me what I needed you for again? To seduce acompromised scientist? To drag your feet while she unravels the system from the inside?”
I don’t react because that would please him too much. Instead, I lean forward, lower my voice, and make him work to hear it.
“You needed someone who could speak her language. You needed someone who could get close without triggering her defenses. And you got what you paid for. She talks to me, sleeps near me, and shares data with me. You think that happened by accident?”
He studies me for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he waves his hand like he’s swatting a fly.
“You have until the next full cycle. If the interface isn’t in my hands by then, you become disposable.”
I nod once, stand, and turn to leave.
“Kade.”
I pause.
“You do remember what happens to liabilities in this place, yes?”
I smile faintly. “I remember everything.”
I don’t go straight back to my office. Because that would be too obvious, too clean. Instead, I walk a loop through the southeast wing, past Diagnostics, and down through the lower labs. My reflection follows me in the black glass panels. It’s cold and unreadable. A man-shaped problem with no solution left in him.
Rourke’s threat doesn’t stick, but it lingers like old blood on the tiles. Just enough to stain, but not enough to sting.
I should delete the drive. Or better yet, hand it over and walk away. But I won’t. Because the moment I do, I become exactly what he thinks I am—replaceable.
The truth is, I haven’t decided who I’m playing for anymore. The cartel? Rourke? Celeste?
Or just myself.
The lights in the north hallway buzz low, flickering as I pass beneath them. A tech rounds the corner and glances up, startled. She nods once. I nod back.
There’s a scent in the air—acetone and printer resin. It clings to the sterile walls like guilt.
I need to be alone.
So I cut through one of the maintenance accessways behind the surgical suites, where there are no cameras and no guards. Just reinforced doors and insulated corridors that no one’s supposed to use except custodial staff. I punch in the override code and step inside.
The hush is immediate.
And then it hits me. The shape of her. Her scent.
It’s not perfume, not lotion. It’s something underneath. Skin and static.
I inhale slowly.
She’s been here. Within the hour.
She never leaves a trace, but I always find her anyway.
Because that’s what obsession is.
It’s not a choice.
It’s a magnetism too precise to escape.
By the time I return to my office, I can feel the pulse in my jaw. It’s not anger. Not quite. It’s something closer to anticipation. Or dread. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
