Page 69 of Fractured Loyalties
She steps out, crosses the street, and disappears into the building.
I grip the steering wheel, hard. Count to thirty. Scan every shadow. Every car.
When she returns, her clothes are different—tight black pants, a soft grey blouse. Her hair is pulled back. She carries a small duffel slung over one shoulder.
She slides into the passenger seat without a word.
I put the car in drive.
Then she says, quietly, “I packed more than one night’s worth. Just in case.”
I glance at her.
And for the first time in hours, my breath finally moves again.
The sunlight filters through the windshield in long, slow angles, catching the edge of her cheekbone and the fabric of her sleeve. I glance at her hands folded in her lap—still, poised. Notclenched. Not uncertain. Just...firm. Like her decision’s already made and settled inside her.
“You’re still going,” I say. It’s not a question.
She nods. “Yes.”
The word is small but final.
I drum my fingers against the wheel. “You think I’m being irrational.”
She doesn’t answer that.
I let the silence stretch before cutting it. “They’re going to ask questions tonight. About where you’ve been. About the bruises they didn’t see before, the intimate marks.”
She shifts in her seat. “Then I won’t give them answers.”
“You think you can keep them all out?”
She turns to me then, eyes sharp. “I’ve kept worse things in.”
And that’s the truth of her. The thing I forget sometimes.
She’s not fragile. She’s flame with a good memory.
“I don’t want to control you,” I say. “But I need to know you’ll come back.”
“I’m not the one who disappears,” she says.
I flinch before I can catch it.
We ride the rest of the way in silence.
When I pull into the drive, I don’t kill the engine.
She looks over. “You’re not coming in?”
“I’ll circle the block. Make sure it’s clear.”
She opens the door but pauses before stepping out.
“Elias.”
I look at her.
