Page 102 of Fractured Allegiance
It’s not.
And I tell her that.
But she pushes again, and the second question is the one that hits harder: “Then who?”
I could lie. Lie better, at least.
Instead, I meet her eyes. And whatever she sees there? It scares her more than the note.
Because it’s not fear for myself.
It’s fear for her.
I don't take my eyes off her, she’s standing a few feet from me, still holding the letter like it might answer itself if shewaits long enough. She hasn’t set it down. Hasn’t folded it. Like crumpling it might trigger something.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s right.
Whoever left it knew where to place it. Knew when to deliver. Knew not to knock until the air between us had already shifted.
Calculated.
Planned.
It wasn’t a warning. It was a performance.
And I was the audience.
I take two steps toward the living room. Not close enough to make her pull away. Just enough to breathe something that isn’t tension.
The monitor above the shelf is still scrolling. Clean feed. Hallway empty. Nothing out of place.
But someone just left an envelope at her door.
I've worked enough surveillance ops to know when something's off. The timing, the placement—too precise to be random.
Lydia follows my gaze to the screen.
She doesn't speak, but I can feel her waiting. Not just for answers. For my reaction.
"The third party," I say quietly. "The one I found accessing the system."
She nods slowly.
"If they've been in long enough, they'd know the camera angles. The blind spots. When to move." I pause. "Or they bypassed it entirely."
Her expression doesn't change, but something tightens around her eyes. "Either way, they got close."
"Yeah."
That's all we say about it.
Because standing here dissecting the surveillance won't change what just happened: someone delivered a message right to her door, and neither Drazen's system nor anything else stopped them.
I look at the envelope still in her hand.
Still heavy in its simplicity.
The note wasn’t made to scare her. Not really. It was meant for me.
