Page 185 of Fractured Allegiance

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And I wait.

An hour passes.

I don't move.

My legs ache. My back stiffens. The key feels like a lead weight in my pocket.

I don't touch it.

I listen.

I can hear her through the door. Faint sounds. Footsteps. The rustle of fabric. At one point, I think I hear her sit down. Then stand again. Pacing.

She's restless.

So am I.

The key is right there.

I could open the door. Just for a second. Just to check on her. Make sure she's okay.

No.

That's what they want.

I grit my teeth and stay where I am.

Around the two-hour mark, I hear her move closer to the door.

I go still.

There's a pause. A long one.

Then I hear it—the softest sound. Like she's leaning against the door.

Or maybe she's testing the lock.

Seeing if it's still engaged.

Seeing if someone—if I—will open it.

My hand moves toward my pocket.

Stops.

Don't.

I pull my hand back. Clench it into a fist.

The cameras are still recording.

Drazen is still watching.

And if I break—if I show even a flicker of weakness—it's over.

So I stay where I am.

And I let her think I'm just another guard.

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