Page 36 of Fractured Devotion
I stand abruptly and smooth down my blouse, slipping the flash drive into my inner coat pocket. No one can see that. Not yet.
I gather a few sanitized printouts—surface-level metrics, neural progression charts, simulation indexes. Nothing that exposes the depth of what I’ve just started. Nothing that reveals how close I am to a threshold I swore I’d never cross again.
With practiced precision, I slide the data into a black folder and head down the hall toward Rourke’s wing, my heelssoft against the vinyl. The air sharpens near his corridor, cooler and more clinical somehow.
Just as I reach the door, I stop.
I take a breath.
Then I knock.
The door swings open almost immediately, and I blink in surprise. Kade is inside, already on his way out. His eyes meet mine, steady and unreadable. We’re so close that our bodies nearly brush.
“Dr. Varon,” he says, his voice calm and almost too smooth.
“Mr. Lorran,” I reply, my voice equally neutral.
He steps aside with a faint nod, and I step past him, our arms just shy of touching. His scent, cedar and something sharper, lingers even after he’s gone.
Rourke stands at his desk, motioning for me to sit. “Right on time.”
I hand over the folder. “Progress metrics from the last two cycles. Simulations are stabilizing.”
He flips through the pages as if weighing the worth of every page, his lips pursed. “And the secondary trial?”
I keep my tone measured. “Still in review. Early data looks promising, but I won’t move forward without full ethical clearance.”
Rourke hums in that way that means he doesn’t quite believe me. “Good. Keep refining. We’ll want a presentation ready by the end of the quarter.”
“Understood.”
The meeting is brief and clinical. He doesn’t mention Kade, and I don’t ask.
As I leave, I remember Kade’s presence like a fingerprint on my skin. A question unspoken. A warning unissued.
I don’t turn back.
But my mind does.
Chapter 13 – Kade - A Quiet Hunger
She doesn’t know I’m watching yet again.
She doesn’t know I know Alec slipped her that flash drive either. Of course she doesn’t.
But I know. And that knowledge curdles in my chest like spoiled wine. I keep playing the footage back, studying the moment she accepted it and how her fingers brushed his.
He wants to help her, protect her, and be her ally. All very noble.
But he doesn’t belong anywhere near her.
The thought builds like static under my skin. She leans in to study the screen again, and I lean in with her, from half a building away. Obsession isn’t even the right word anymore.
I don’t hear the first chime of the alert until the second one buzzes in harsher. It’s a message from Rourke. I open it without taking my eyes off her.
“I need you to retrieve a courier drop from the west gate. Time-sensitive.”
I curse softly under my breath, rising from the chair.
