Page 26 of Fractured Devotion
I sink deeper into my seat and stare at the log entry.
Truth is felt, not told.
God help me, I believe it.
The door clicks shut behind him, but the tension doesn’t leave with him. It stays coiled in the back of my throat and in the hollow behind my sternum.
What did he mean byshe’s not the only one with something buried? Was it just a jab? Or something more?
I hate the way his words hang in my mind, shapeless and sticky. He knew I was reading her logs. That means he’s either watching me or he knows Reyes gave them to me. Neither possibility sits well.
And then there’s the way he saidcare. Like it’s weakness.
The problem is, he’s not entirely wrong. I do care. More than I should, probably. More than I’m comfortable admitting. Celeste isn’t just a colleague or an old memory.
We used to be something tangled and fragile—lovers disguised as partners, or maybe the other way around. She’s a fault line I stepped over once and never quite recovered from.
But Kade… he strides over it like he owns the ground beneath it.
He unnerves me. Not because he’s aggressive in a weird way, but because he’s quiet and controlled. Men like that don’t lose control. They distribute it.
And I’ve seen how he looks at her.
It’s not lust, not affection, and not even curiosity.
It’s possession.
Like he’s studying a rare species that he’s already decided belongs in his collection.
I push back from the desk and walk to the window. The glass is cool beneath my knuckles. Below, the quad is empty. And beyond it are the upper floors where she works, where she thinks she’s safe.
She’s not.
Not from the people here.
And not from herself.
If Kade is circling her, I need to figure out why.
Not because I’m jealous.
But because I don’t trust what she’ll become if someone like him is the one who finally gets close enough to see all her pieces.
I find her later in the east stairwell. It’s the one people don’t use unless they’re avoiding something. She’s seated on the steps with her back against the wall and her long legs folded to one side like she’s forgotten she owns a desk. A tablet lies dark beside her, untouched.
She looks up as I approach, and the corners of her mouth twitch. It’s not a smile. Not quite.
“You okay?” I ask.
Her voice is dry. “Define okay.”
I sit two steps below her, not beside her. I’ve learned that proximity with Celeste has to be offered, never assumed.
“You talk to anyone else today?”
She shakes her head. “Didn’t feel like wearing the mask.”
Her phrasing strikes me.Themask. Notamask. There’s a difference.
