Page 226 of Fractured Loyalties
“Elias thinks I should stay here,” I say, mostly to test the shape of the words. “He says reality made the choice for me.”
Lydia snorts. “He would.”
“It feels like a cage.”
“It is a cage.” She doesn’t soften it. “The trick is making it your cage instead of someone else’s.”
“How do I do that?”
“You stop acting like a passenger.”
I let the sentence sit between us. The apartment’s huge windows mirror our shapes on the glass. Two women in a room that looks like a museum. Bare shelves. Expensive couches. A view of treetops and sky. A space with no past.
Lydia’s gaze flicks toward the hallway I came from. “He push you too hard?”
I feel heat move up my neck. “That’s none of your business.”
“Everything is my business if it changes how you think when a door opens.” She sets the tablet down. “Look at me.”
I do. Her eyes are a cool, assessing brown. Nothing soft in them. Nothing cruel either. Just a scale that weighs cost and outcome.
“That car outside the clinic wasn’t just about seeing you,” she says. “It was placement. They wanted to learn how fast he shows up when you flinch.”
“He wasn’t there.”
“He was near enough,” she replies. “And they expect him to be closer next time.”
The room goes cold. It takes a second to find my voice. “You’re saying they’re using me to pull him out.”
“Yes.”
My fingers curl into the towel until the fabric bites my palms. A small part of me knew it already. The bigger part didn’t want the words. “He wouldn’t allow himself to fall for their traps.”
She tilts her head. “You sure?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. It tastes like defeat. It tastes like finally looking at the shape of the room with the lights on. “But I don’t want to be a lure, especially not to get to him or hurt him.”
“Good,” Lydia says. “Because the men circling you don’t see a lure. They see leverage. Different animal. Harder to kill.”
She picks up the tablet again and swaps to a different cam angle. The clinic entrance comes into view, the upgraded glass gleaming, the lobby visible behind it. I see myself in yesterday’s clothing, head down, handing files to the receptionist. The time stamp ticks.
“Freeze,” I say, pointing. “Back two seconds.”
She scrubs back. There. A figure across the street with a phone held low at his hip. He isn’t filming the door. He’s filming the reflection in the glass.
“That’s smart,” Lydia murmurs. “Less likely to get called out. You spot that fast.”
“Elias trained me without saying he was training me,” I answer, surprised at the edge in my voice. “He notices everything and makes you notice it too.”
“You resent him for it?”
“Yes,” I say. “And no.”
“Good. Keep both.”
She sets the tablet aside and nudges the black bag open with two fingers. Inside are tools that make my stomach tip. She pulls out a narrow case and flips the lid. Foam cradles a folding knife, a tiny flashlight, a compact baton no longer than my forearm when collapsed. Nothing flashy. All useful.
“I have pepper spray,” I say.
