Page 19 of Fractured Loyalties
I brush my thumb lightly along her jawline, watching carefully as her defenses crumble further, her eyes softening into acceptance, into desire. "When you're ready," I whisper, leaning closer, my lips mere inches from hers, "I'll be here."
She holds my gaze for a long, charged beat, then suddenly steps back. Her eyes dart toward the windows, then back to me. "Elias, I appreciate all of this...but I need to get back to work."
The words hang in the air like a cold blade.
I straighten. "You’re not thinking clearly. Caleb is still out there. He knows where you are."
She lifts her chin, resolve sharpening. "He won’t come near me at the clinic. Not during the day. Not with other people around. He’ll never act unless I’m alone—and I won’t be. Not today."
Her logic is sound. Frustratingly sound. I pace slowly across the room, considering the angles. This isn’t recklessness—it’s her reclaiming some semblance of normalcy, and I can’t strip her of that. Not yet.
She watches me closely. "I need this, Elias. I can’t let him make me feel hunted. If I disappear from the clinic today, he wins. He’ll know he still has power."
I turn to face her, jaw tight. "You’ll let me take you. I’ll stay close. I’ll decide if the environment’s secure."
She nods. "Okay. But you won’t follow me inside. I need the illusion."
"Illusion won’t stop a bullet."
"But your presence will."
The calmness in her tone unnerves me more than fear would.
I grab the keys. "Let’s go."
The drive back into town is short but taut. Mara sits straighter than before, the air between us humming with silent tension. When I stop behind the clinic’s service lot, she reaches for the door, but I catch her wrist.
"Wait."
She pauses.
"If you see anything—anyone—out of place, you leave. Immediately."
"I will."
I release her, and she steps out. She doesn’t look back as she walks into the building.
I don’t loiter. I’m not a man without purpose. I drive two blocks east, toward the small co-working space I maintain for remote operations. It’s secure, discreet, and close enough to intervene if needed. I’m logged in before her first appointment starts.
Chapter 6 – Mara - The Window Between
The click of the clinic door behind me is sharper than it should be. I feel it slide down my spine like a warning, even though I tell myself it’s just the shift in pressure from the hallway to the front desk. My boots make soft sounds against the polished linoleum, the quiet rhythm grounding me more than anything else has today.
I’m back.
The morning light through the front windows casts faint lines across the waiting area, slicing through the fog that hasn’t yet lifted from the coast. Everything looks the same. The same stack of brochures in their color-coded trays. The same faint lemon antiseptic smell. The same low hum of the old HVAC vent by the receptionist’s desk. But something in me feels irrevocably tilted.
Maybe it’s the fact that Elias drove me here himself. Or that I didn’t stop him. Maybe it’s the way he lingered at the edge of the lot afterward—still a stranger, but one who carries silence like a weapon. I don’t know what he’s capable of yet. I only know that he’s near. And that unsettles me more than it should.
And, near isn’t new anyway. I’ve caught him before, though I didn’t name it then. At the café window, a line at the post office, the sharp angle of his shoulders reflected in glass I wasn’t supposed to be looking at. Always there and gone, never too close, never intrusive. Like a bookmark slipped into the margins of my days.
I told myself it was just a coincidence, but part of me knew better. That’s why when he stepped out of the alley, I didn’t feel the kind of fear I should have. My body had already filed himunder something known. Not safe, not exactly—but not strange either.
My fingers hesitate over the computer mouse, then move mechanically. Log in. Open calendar. Sort voicemails. But my focus frays at the edges. I keep looking over my shoulder. My body knows it’s being observed, even if my eyes can’t see it.
Celeste appears just after eight-thirty, her navy cardigan tugged neatly over her frame, lips pursed in that way that means she’s got ten things to say and no time to say them. “Morning, Mara.”
“Morning.” I try for composed.
