Page 34 of Fractured Allegiance
Just a trick of street movements. A shape made of nerves and tension and the thousand eyes a woman like me collects just by existing in this world.
But when I lie back on the couch, the fan humming above me, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
There’s a file on my laptop, an encrypted one.
I open it now.
There are only two images in it.
The first: Drazen.
The second: Silas Ward.
I don’t know how many names that man has had. Don’t know how real this one is.
But the photo isn’t recent.
His jaw’s less defined. Hair a little longer. The kind of face you’d ignore in a crowd until you realized it was the only one watching you.
I close the laptop.
Stand again.
Walk to the window.
Nothing.
But I don’t open the curtains again.
This time, I sit in the dimly lit room.
Just in case someone’s still watching.
And just in case they aren’t.
Because, either way, I need to look like I’m ready.
Even when I’m not.
I should be getting ready.
I should be dressing, stepping back into my role, the one that wears a smirk and heels and never lets her voice crack when Drazen talks about things he has no right to know.
Instead, I sit in the quiet and track shadows through the closed curtains like they might form into a name.
Silas.
I don’t know if it was him. I don’t even know if what I saw was real. Could’ve been a cab. Could’ve been a trick of the light.Could’ve been the hangover of fear Drazen carved into me an hour ago still bleeding at the edges.
But the way that shadow moved, just fast enough to dodge definition, felt like intent.
And Silas Ward?
He looks like a man who doesn’t blink unless he means it.
The file on him was short. Too short. I had to go digging myself. And even then, the trail ran cold right where it should’ve started to heat.
Which, in our world, means one of two things: Either he’s small enough to vanish, or big enough to erase himself. Neither option makes me feel much better.
