Page 122 of Fractured Loyalties

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Which makes this worse.

Which means she knows I’ll see this first.

She’s not hiding.

She’s warning me.

I reach for my earpiece, slot it in, and trigger a direct line.

“Lydia.”

Her voice is there instantly. “I know.”

“How much?”

“Enough to tell you we’re not the only ones watching her burner.”

I close my eyes. “Did you trace it?”

“No. Whoever it was used shell code built on repurposed ALTA hardware. Like someone knew what tools you’d used before and mirrored them.”

That makes my blood go cold.

“Someone’s trying to speak in my language.”

“Or they’re mocking it.”

She’s right. And I hate that she is.

I press my palm to the edge of the bench. The house is too still.

Mara’s signal tag is stationary.

She’s not in her quarters.

She’s in mine.

Not sleeping.

Waiting.

Like she knew I’d feel all of this before I ever stepped into the room.

And now I do.

I shut down the decoder.

Because if they wanted a response?

They’ve got one coming.

The stairwell hums beneath my boots, each step a soft thud in the quiet. I don’t rush it. The house doesn’t feel like mine right now—not fully. It’s holding its breath, like the walls are listening to me move. Like they’ve been listening to her.

When I reach the second level, the lights remain off, the hallway dim. Pale slices of dusky light slip through the slatted shades. Everything smells sharper than it should. Steel. Soap. And something faint and unmistakable: her hair. Her skin. Her fear, folded inward like origami.

I pass her room without pausing. Nothing inside it calls to me.

My hand curls around the knob of my door.

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