Page 231 of Fractured Loyalties
Her jacket settles across her shoulders. She tugs the zipper up halfway, leaving her throat exposed like she has nothing to fear. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s built so much armor into herself that she doesn’t notice anymore when she walks into a fight.
I envy that. I also know I don’t want to become it.
The tablet screen dims beside her, the frozen frame of that car still stamped across it. The Civic that Elias hunted today. He doesn’t know I’ve seen the same shadow from another angle, tracked by Lydia’s hands while I stood in this room learning how to survive thirty seconds.
“Why tell me the truth?” I ask. “About the net? About them using me?”
Her lips curve, not a smile. More like the edge of a blade catching light. “Because lies make people slow. And I don’t train slow.”
The words sting. Because she’s right. Because somewhere inside me, I’ve been waiting for comfort, for someone to soften the edges. Elias doesn’t soften. Lydia doesn’t either. Maybethat’s what keeps them alive. Maybe that’s what will keep me alive, too.
The safehouse feels bigger now, as if every wall holds secrets I don’t know how to read yet. I stand straighter, my body sore but wired, and let my eyes take in the space the way Lydia told me: corners, exits, reflections. Not like home. Like terrain.
I can feel her watching me, measuring if the lesson stuck.
“Again,” she says, surprising me.
“What?”
She points to the wall, sharp. “Corner. Show me you remember.”
I hesitate only a breath, then move. The edge presses my spine again. The baton is gone, but I imagine it. Hip, pivot, elbow—this time smoother, faster, breaking the corner before she can blink.
When I come out the other side, Lydia nods once. Approval.
“Better.”
I’m flushed, chest tight, but something in me steadies. She was right. Speed isn’t grace. Speed is survival.
I meet her gaze. “What if he doesn’t like me learning this?”
Her brows lift, and for the first time, a real smile ghosts over her face. “Then he’ll have to keep up.”
The sound of the safehouse hums louder all at once—the HVAC, the faint shift of pipes, the tick of the clock near the kitchen. The world is still turning. Elias isn’t back yet. But I am not standing still.
I grip the edge of the counter to keep my hands busy. Lydia folds her arms, watching me like she’s decided something.
“You’ll be fine,” she says. “But only if you remember one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re not his shadow, Mara. You’re your own weapon. Start thinking like it.”
The words lodge in me, sharp as any blade. I don’t know if I believe them yet. But I want to.
The door unlocks with a clean metallic slide. Not frantic. Not loud. Controlled. Of course it is.
My fingers grip the counter tighter. Lydia doesn’t move from the couch, but her eyes flick to the door like she already knows what she’ll see.
Elias steps inside.
He doesn’t look winded, though there’s a faint red scrape on the back of his hand, just above the knuckle. His jacket is missing. His shirt clings damp at the shoulders. His eyes are sharper than when he left, pupils still edged with whatever he just did.
For one beat, I don’t breathe. The room holds him like it has been waiting.
Lydia stands, casual but alert. “You’re late.”
His gaze slices to her, then to me. He ignores the comment entirely. “Mara.”
