Page 36 of Fractured Allegiance
She gives a hint of a smirk, then gestures toward the hall. “She’s in her office.”
I don’t need directions. The route’s muscle memory by now.
Mara’s door is ajar. I knock once — a courtesy, not a question — and step inside.
She’s perched on the edge of her desk, legs crossed, phone in hand. No heels, no makeup; it’s just her.
She looks up and softens. “Lydia.”
“Mara.”
“Let me guess… Elias sent you?”
I shrug. “You think that’s the only reason why I can come here?”
She smiles. “Only because you’re wearing the face you reserve for mild irritation.”
I step in and close the door. “I fainted.”
Her smile drops. “What?”
“Earlier. Briefly. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” She rises, gestures to the chair. “Sit.”
I do.
She watches me carefully, then pulls her phone out again. “I’ll have Celeste take a look. Just a basic scan. Hydration, pressure, reflexes. Nothing invasive.”
I groan. “You’re the admin here, not the boss.”
“Wrong,” she says, dialing. “I’m the one who sees the paperwork when your body starts to betray you.”
I roll my eyes, but let her call anyway.
We talk for a few minutes, catching up in the way women like us can. Never straight on, always around the edges. She mentions Alec’s latest obsession with trauma pattern research, Celeste’s refusal to switch to decaf, the silent power plays happening on the clinic’s board.
I listen. Let the normalcy settle around me like a second skin.
Celeste enters not long after. No judgment—just that small, practiced nod that makes it hard to tell whether she’s comforting me or assessing me. She clips the pulse reader to my finger, then wraps the cuff around my arm. The monitor hums, then gives a soft beep.
“Your pressure’s low,” she says, frowning slightly. “Heart rate’s higher than I’d like. You’ve been pushing too hard. Looks like you've lost weight too.”
“Missed a few meals,” I say.
She gives a look that says she’s heard the excuse before. “I bet you miss more than meals. Sleep?”
I lift one shoulder. That’s enough of an answer.
She notes something on her tablet, pen tapping lightly against the screen. “I’ll leave one or two bottles at the front desk—something to help you stabilize, maybe rest. Nothing heavy.” Her tone softens, almost an afterthought. “Pick them up when you leave.”
“Sure.”
She gives me that small, knowing half-smile before turning for the door—efficient, measured, already moving on to the next body that needs her.
Mara touches my wrist as I rise. “Whatever it is… make sure it doesn’t take you first.”
I meet her eyes.
