Page 180 of Fractured Devotion
Her expression cracks, every wall she ever built crumbling in the privacy of her apartment. She sifts through the contents slowly, delicately. Photos. Documents. Letters. Secrets she shouldn’t have.
And every now and then since, she goes back to it.
Every decision she’s made since then traces back to that box.
I lean back in my chair, my breath shallow.
Whatever is inside that box changed everything.
I have to know.
I watch the footage again, slower this time, studying every detail of her reactions and mapping her shifts.
Her whole war started here.
And I won’t survive this unless I get to the heart of it.
My breath stays uneven as I sit back, locking my gaze on the paused frame of her cradling that damn box.
That’s the epicenter. The ignition point.
I switch to my backup tablet, syncing it with the archives. I watch it again, zooming in closer this time and following the way her hands linger on the papers, the trembling in her fingers when she touches one of the envelopes.
Her expression isn’t just pain. It’s recognition.
I trace back further, every frame dragging me deeper.
I rewind the footage again, watching more carefully.
She’s on the phone, her voice low, her face unreadable. It’s almost midnight.
Minutes later, she leaves her apartment.
She comes back around three in the morning, clutching the box tightly, her hands white-knuckled. Her face is blank, but her eyes are stormy.
I narrow my gaze. Alec shows up early that morning, just after she returns. He doesn’t look surprised. He never does around her.
I can’t hear what they say, but the timing tightens a knot in my chest.
It doesn’t matter where she got it from. Alec knows. He always knows.
That box isn’t just some lost relic.
It’s a weapon.
I clench my fist, fury curling in my gut.
I can’t believe I let myself be blindsided.
I lean forward, staring at the frozen footage of her curled on the floor, clutching the contents of that box, weeping into the night.
My chest tightens.
I need that box.
I need what she knows.
Because without it, I’m navigating blind through a collapsing maze.
