Page 30 of Fractured Allegiance
He steps closer. His voice doesn’t rise, but it cuts all the same.
“You used to be more than that.”
That lands harder than it should.
Because he’s not wrong.
I used to run rings around rooms like that. Back when I knew which man would fold first, which client had real money, which bodyguard kept his finger too stiff on the trigger.
And now?
I measure survival by how fast I can agree. How quickly I can nod, smile, sit still while men like Drazen poke me with jagged lies.
Dom’s still staring.
“Be ready tonight,” he says.
“For what?”
“Negotiation. You'll sit in. Maybe observe. Maybe remind them they’re being watched.”
“Which negotiation?”
“Does it matter?”
He turns on his heel, coat flaring behind him. He doesn’t wait for a reply.
It doesn’t matter.
Because it was never about my voice.
Just my presence.
I step outside and the city hits like a mouthful of smoke.
Miramont smells like money trying to hide its decay. Fancy sidewalks, brushed steel signs, hired palms in neat square plots. But the heat’s rising today, too much sun for early spring, and I can feel the rot underneath.
Beneath my feet. Inside my chest.
I start walking.
No destination. Just motion.
I didn’t flinch in that room.
But I remembered what it felt like.
The heat behind your eyes. The slow collapse of your spine. The way Drazen could break a body with nothing but a sentence.
That used to be me.
Five years ago…
Before Elias taught me how to hold a blade like a pen.
Before Drazen found the one thing I couldn’t erase and carved it into a leash.
Now I just hide it better. Now, I’m just tired. I’m tired of the tension never draining, of having to stay pretty while being watched from the inside out. Tired of the mask slipping and no one caring enough to catch it. Or I did.
