Page 54 of Fractured Devotion

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A pause.

“A vessel.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“To the Monitor.”

My blood runs cold.

That name.The Monitor.

It’s the same name that surfaced in a report Alec shared with me six years ago—a radical psychiatrist linked to illegal trauma camps. He disappeared before prosecution. Until now, I thought it was just a coincidence.

It wasn’t.

I lean back in my chair, letting the ceiling blur as my vision swims.

I need answers. And I won’t find them inside this office.

A message pings on my tablet. It’s Mara.

Mara: “Have you seen this?” (Attached: footage timestamped last night.)

I open it.

It’s security cam footage from outside the lower diagnostics bay. It’s grainy, and a figure lingers too long near the emergency panel. Then the figure walks away. It’s not staff. There’s no badge.

My pulse tightens.

I quickly replied to her message.

Me:“Send me the raw feed.”

She does, within seconds.

I drop the file into a private thread I created months ago, just in case. It’s a ghost directory, and no one else can access it.

I’ll run facial recognition later. For now, I text Mara again.

Me: “Let’s talk tonight. Offsite.”

Mara: “Okay. Is something wrong?”

Everything is wrong. But I won’t say it.

Me: “I just want a fresh pair of eyes.”

I close the tablet and take a moment to steady myself.

I should go home, but the idea of walking past that van again makes my teeth itch.

I need something else. A shift.

I walk down the corridor, past Diagnostics, and into the cold air outside. The sun hangs low now, casting a thick haze over the courtyard.

And I see someone.

Kade.

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