Page 67 of Fractured Devotion
Whoever that was, they’re good.
Too good.
Maybe this is the van’s owner. Maybe this is the escalation I didn’t plan for. Or maybe… maybe this is exactly what I needed.A new danger to stand behind. One that could explain my presence, my concern, and my closeness.
This is precision and infiltration. Fuck.
I scrub back through the earlier feed. The bathroom, living room, and front door. Still no Celeste.
She’s still at the bar. I find the nearby traffic feed and confirm it.
And now I’m not just watching. I’m boiling.
This wasn’t random. Whoever this is, they’ve done it before. They’re trained, fast, and not here to rob or warn. They wanted her rattled. Or tagged. Maybe both.
My fingers clench around the edge of the console. She’s been spiraling for days, and now? Now this.
I stare at the empty hallway and the faint motion light flickering off.
Someone else is playing my game.
I sit back, pull the encrypted backup tablet, and isolate the footage. I start overlaying timestamps from when she left the clinic and entered the bar. Whoever this intruder is, they waited until she was settled somewhere public.
Clever.
I don’t like clever.
I glance at the clock. It’s 12:04 a.m. She’s still inside.
I send a ping through the system to see what’s been tripped. Nothing. They bypassed every single measure I’ve put in place.
That’s what makes me furious.
I shove back from the desk and pace, letting the silence settle around me. My apartment is too cold, too clean. It’s a place built for someone who doesn’t exist.
This was supposed to be control.
My control.
Now she’s in the dark, and someone else is flicking the lights.
I pull up the last frame again, then pause and enhance.
For a long moment, I say nothing. Then I smile.
You want a war? You’ve got one.
But first, I need her closer.
Much closer.
Because if she’s being hunted by more than just me, then I’m not the villain anymore.
I’m the fucking hero.
By 12:38 a.m., she finally leaves the bar.
Her steps are dragged and uneven from the drinks, but steady enough. The camera on her street catches her just before she rounds the last corner. Her hair is mussed, and her cheeks are flushed. It’s the kind of flush that stirs heat deep in my abdomen.
