Page 58 of Fractured Loyalties
She lifts a brow.
“I’ll give you the dignity of distance. But I’ll be watching.”
She smirks. “Of course you will.”
She opens the door and steps out, the wind tossing strands of her hair sideways. Her stride is confident. Efficient. I don’t realize I’m gripping the steering wheel until she reaches the door, turns once, and looks directly at the car. Not waving. Just…aware.
Inside, she’s swallowed by the building.
I decide to wait a while before heading to the office—I've been away too long, but right now, I need to make sure everything is steady here before I leave her behind.
I park further down the block and kill the engine. From this angle, I can see the front entrance and activities inside around the front desk.
A text from Lydia pings across my screen:New burner trace on Caleb. You’ll want to see this.
I reply:Not now.
Then I wait.
Twenty-three minutes later, Mara reappears at the front desk. A nurse says something, and Mara’s smile is practiced. Celeste emerges from the side hall, leans in too close, and touches Mara’s arm. Her eyes scan her face the way trained counselors do when they’re trying not to sound clinical. Mara pulls back slightly, but keeps her expression even.
Then she disappears down the hallway toward her office.
That’s when my jaw tightens.
Because I see it—a man outside, loitering a few doors down from the clinic, feigning interest in a flower box that hasn’t seen real care in months. Hands in his pockets. Ballcap low. Clean shoes. The posture’s all wrong for this neighborhood.
I take a photo and zoom. No obvious weapon. No phone. Just stillness.
He isn’t watching the door.
He’s watching the window above it.
Mara’s window.
I start the engine. I’m not going anywhere. But the engine needs to know I’m ready.
I stay in the car, eyes on him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. People pass by, and he barely pretends to notice. Whoever he is, he’s not a local.
I run a cross-check through facial recognition software—grainy at this distance, but good enough to flag movement profiles. Nothing concrete. No ID. Just a ghost with legs.
So I get out.
The air has shifted. The kind of shift I feel in my spine before a storm. I walk slowly. Deliberate. I don’t go straight to him. I loop around, keep distance, circle like I’m just another stranger passing through.
He sees me. I know he does. I also know the exact moment he realizes I’ve clocked him.
He turns casually, starts down the block like he’s just decided he forgot something.
I fall in.
Not too close. Not too far.
He keeps his hands in his pockets. Doesn’t look back. But his pace stutters twice—he’s checking reflections.
At the mouth of an alley, he turns in. Not hurried. Just enough to bait me.
I follow.
