Page 130 of Fractured Devotion
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “By withholding the truth?”
His eyes darken. “By not handing you a loaded gun made of your own trauma.”
We stare at each other, the space between us full of something jagged. It’s not hatred and not anger, but something older. Something too deep to name.
“You think this ends with silence?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Wrong,” I say. “It ends with fire.”
Kade’s mouth is a hard line now. He leans against the desk beside me, not quite sitting, just close enough that I feel the heat radiating from him. The silence doesn’t soften. It hardens.
“I don’t need protection,” I say.
His voice comes soft, but honed to a point when he says, “You think knowledge makes you invincible?”
“No,” I reply. “But lies make me disposable.”
That finally lands. His head tips forward, and his hands flex once at his sides.
“I didn’t want to give you more reasons to hate me,” he says softly.
“You’re not that noble.”
“No,” he admits. “I’m not.”
The words sit heavy between us. I move away from the desk, pacing again. My legs shake, and I hate it, but I keep moving. A corner of the desk catches my eye. I notice a small matte black device tucked under a case folder.
It’s the flash drive I always keep with me on my person. Hidden and secured.
He follows my gaze.
“You opened it,” I say.
“Yes,” he tells me.
“You copied it.”
“I didn’t alter anything.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say.
He stays still. “You shouldn’t have left it unattended.”
“I didn’t.”
That earns a flicker of surprise in his expression. Good. Let him feel it. Let him wonder just how much I know.
I walk to the window and press my fingers against the glass. My reflection blurs in the tint. I look like someone else. I feel like someone else.
“You saw my triggers,” I say. “The closet, the lullaby. You watched them respond. You had the patterns before I did.”
“I didn’t create them,” he states.
“No,” I murmur. “But you knew how to work them.”
He doesn’t deny it.
