Page 84 of Fractured Devotion
Celeste raises an eyebrow. “You want to bring someone else into this?”
I nod. “Someone I trust.”
Her lips thin. “Who?”
I hesitate. “Reyes.”
Celeste lifts an eyebrow, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “Reyes? I actually did brief him about it. He was my mentor when I first got here. One of the few people who didn’t treat me like a fragile case file.”
“Exactly. No one watches him because they think he’s useless. But he’s already flagged inconsistencies in the deep files. We just have to nudge him.”
She leans back. “I’m just worried. What if he tells Rourke, thinking he’s helping out?”
“Then we burn everything and disappear, but I will make sure he doesn’t tell a soul. I’ll let him know there’s no one else to trust for now.”
It’s a grim kind of partnership we’re building. It’s not based on trust but necessity. And it’s the best either of us can do.
And right now, it’s enough.
By 9 a.m., we’re at the clinic.
We don’t walk in together because that would draw attention. I go in first, through the rear entry, swipe my badge, and nod at two technicians in the hallway without meeting their eyes. The lab feels too sterile today, everything gleaming and humming like it’s trying to drown out the rot underneath.
I find Reyes in Lab C, seated in front of two open monitors and a cluttered desk full of analysis reports. He’s frowning at a 3D scan of a neural profile and tapping his pen absently against his knee.
“Reyes,” I say, my voice low.
He doesn’t look up. “Busy.”
“It’s about the duplication anomalies,” I add.
That gets his attention.
His gaze snaps up, his eyes narrowing behind those round glasses. “You’ve seen them too?”
I nod. “Some overlap with Celeste’s access logs and patterns that shouldn’t exist. You flagged them?”
Reyes stands. “Six days ago. I sent a preliminary report to Rourke, but no reply. Then yesterday, the entire batch of flagged entries was wiped from my queue. Wiped, Alec. Like they never existed.”
I glance at the door, then step in farther. “We need to talk. Somewhere less… traceable.”
He squints at me. “You’re serious.”
“As a fucking heart attack.”
It takes him two minutes to pack up. We meet Celeste outside the building, at the far end of the parking lot where the surveillance coverage drops off—an intentional blind spot for smoke breaks that no one ever takes anymore.
Reyes looks from her to me, then back again. “You really think this has to do with Trial 14?”
“I think it does,” Celeste says. “And we need your help connecting the last threads.”
Reyes rubs his face. “If we do this, we’ll need access to Rourke’s server room. And not just logs but the original behavioral cascade models.”
“Can you get us in?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “With the right timing, yes. But we’ll need a cover.”
Celeste steps forward. “Then let’s build one.”
