Page 98 of Fractured Loyalties
“I’m not hiding it from you.”
“Then say it.”
“His name is Anton Vale. He’s someone I lost years ago. And now I have a chance to find him.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “And kill him?”
“If necessary.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t argue. She just nods slowly.
“I don’t want to be the reason you hold back,” she says. “But I also don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”
I step closer, frame her face in my hands.
“You won’t be.”
But we both know the truth lives somewhere between us.
We’re standing in the hallway, half lit by the dull bleed of dawn, our words still soft in the air. She’s quiet, but her eyesspeak louder than her mouth ever does. I feel it in my chest—the way she wants to say more, the war between trust and fear.
She leans forward first.
Not into my mouth. Into my throat. Her forehead rests there, a quiet pressure. Not a plea. Just…being.
“I don’t want you to come back emptier,” she whispers.
I lower my hand to her spine, feeling the slight tremor in her body.
“I don’t know any other way to come back,” I say.
“Then teach me,” she replies. “So I can hold the weight too.”
It guts me.
She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “Will you at least come to bed? One more hour?”
I nod. And it feels like surrender.
Back in the room, we lie down again—clothed now, but not covered. Her hand finds mine beneath the sheets, fingers laced tight, like she’s anchoring me to the present. To her.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
Her thumb moves slowly across the edge of my palm.
A silent promise.
And for now, that’s enough to stay.
At some point, sleep claim her again, and I don't know when I fell asleep too, I wake to the feeling of her fingers against my ribs, tracing shapes that don’t exist. Her breath is even. Her eyes are open.
“You slept,” I murmur.
“A little,” she says.
I shift to look at her. Her face is close. Open in a way that’s not fragile, just honest.
