Page 27 of Fractured Allegiance
The pause stretches, and the dock wind shifts.
He doesn’t push after that. Just jerks his chin at the bag and turns back toward the lot.
“You need another drop, you know how to ask. And hey—” he calls back over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Whatever that woman is to you? Better figure it out before Naomi does.”
He’s gone before I answer.
I don’t follow.
I just stand there, watching the skyline shift behind the cranes — faint purple trying to split the dark.
The city isn’t awake yet. But something under it is.
One photo.
One sideways glance in a blurry image.
And suddenly I’m more exposed than she is.
I slide the picture into my jacket.
And walk the long way home.
Chapter 3 – Lydia - The Leash
The message comes at 6:03 AM.
Not a call. Not even a full sentence.
Just a word from one of Drazen’s errand boys, sitting in my inbox like a sealed threat: “Tower.”
Which means now.
I slide my phone face-down and let my eyes trace the ceiling.
There’s a crack there. Faint, threadlike. It wasn’t there when I moved in. But it’s there now. Like the plaster’s trying to mirror me.
I don’t ask why Drazen wants me. I already know it’s not for anything useful. Not to hear what I think. Not to request anything that makes sense.
Drazen’s invitations aren’t appointments. They’re reminders.
I throw off the sheets and stand, the tile cold beneath my feet. My knee aches, it always does in the morning. I stretch, let the stiffness pass through me, and head to the sink.
No coffee.
No time.
I scrub my face, tie my hair, and zip myself into a dress I don’t like. It’s black. Structured. The kind of thing that says I don’t flinch.
I do, though. I just know how to do it on the inside.
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The tower sits in Miramont’s glass district. Sleek, ruthless, designed for predators who sign their kills with ink. Drazen keeps a suite on the 38th floor, dressed up with floor-to-ceiling windows, plush carpets, and furniture so minimal but expensive it looks like it’s plucked from a catalog.
