Page 214 of Fractured Devotion

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Just to the edges of the city, where it’s all calm and still.

I check into a nameless hotel, the kind where payment is taken in cash and no one looks twice.

In the room, I sit by the window, staring out at the lights.

I think of Celeste.

I think of the way her eyes burned.

Of the way her voice never wavered.

I know I can’t go back to her.

Not now.

Not after what I’ve done.

I pull out a piece of paper and scrawl a note with steady hands: If you ever need the wolf again, leave a message where only I would look. I’ll find it.

I fold it neatly and tuck it into my coat.

Then, I settle back, watching the city move.

I don’t know where I’ll go from here.

Maybe I’ll disappear.

Maybe I’ll find a new hunt.

But right now, I’m content to be the ghost that makes sure she breathes easier.

Hours pass. The city outside grows still, the streets emptying into darkness.

I stay by the window, unmoving, my eyes tracing every passing car, every flicker of a streetlamp.

In the stillness, I let the memories come.

Not of the killings.

But of her.

Her voice, fierce and sharp, the way she defied me, the way she understood me.

The only person who didn’t flinch when she looked into my darkness.

I wonder what she’ll do now.

Whether she’ll burn the world or build something new from its ashes.

Part of me wants to watch. But another part knows I can’t.

She deserves a clean slate, not shadows waiting in the corner.

I take the folded note from my coat again, running my thumb over the edge.

It’s not a tether.

It’s a promise.

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