Page 115 of Fractured Loyalties
I slip into a loose gray hoodie, the soft one that still smells like coffee and Elias’s skin. I lace up my shoes, grab my knife from the drawer, and shove it in the side pocket of my bag. Pepper spray goes in next. Small first aid kit, a flash drive, a burner ID I never told Elias I kept. And my keycard.
I don't tell myself where I’m going, because I don’t know yet.
Maybe the beach.
Maybe the clinic.
Maybe even back to my apartment for a change of air.
I just know I need to move. Get my body out of this house before it turns into a cage.
I grab my sunglasses off the counter, sling the bag over my shoulder, and walk out the front door before I can second-guess it.
The sun is sharp. The wind tastes like salt. And for the first time in days, I let the silence belong to something other than fear.
Early sun glints off the tide, and the sea is still quiet, not yet disturbed by the tourists or the weekend runners.
I step off the path and let my shoes sink into the edge of the wet sand. Not too close to the waves. Just enough to feel the cold seeping through the soles. The wind whips my hair loose, and I let it. For once, I don’t smooth it back.
There’s a calm that lives here—one that doesn’t owe itself to anyone. The sea doesn’t care who’s watching. It doesn’t bend for men like Caleb or ghosts from Elias's past. It just breathes. Endless.
I keep walking. Not fast. Just steady. A straight line along the shore until the ache in my chest starts to loosen.
A gull cries out overhead. My fingers curl into the strap of my bag. And still, I keep walking.
By the time I loop back toward the road, my legs are sore, and my throat’s dry from salt and wind. There’s a food truck parked near the lot. I almost don’t stop.
But I do.
Coffee. Black. No room. No sweetness.
The guy behind the window gives me a look like he wants to ask if I’m okay. I give him a look back that tells him not to.
I take the cup and head to a low bench that faces the ocean.
Then I pull out my phone.
No messages.
Nothing from Elias.
I could text him. Could say I needed a walk. Could ask if he’s still okay.
But I don’t.
If he’s in the middle of something, I’ll only make it worse by poking the thread.
Instead, I open my contacts. Scroll until I hit my own name. One of the dummy IDs. I update the location sync. Just enough to look like I’m home. Just in case someone’s watching.
Then I down the rest of the coffee and head for the road.
I’m not going back to the house yet.
Not until I feel like it’s mine again.
Maybe the clinic.
Maybe...the apartment.
