Page 207 of Fractured Loyalties
It should anchor me. The familiar codes and time slots, the little details that give shape to a day. But there’s a current under my skin that won’t quiet.
The paper feels heavier than it should. Each drawer clicks too loud. I can sense something in the air, waiting.
The front door opens.
I don’t look up right away. Too many people come and go here—patients, couriers, deliveries. It’s only when the footsteps cross the lobby, heavy and certain, that I feel it before I see it.
The voice confirms it.
“Hello, Mara.”
I freeze, hand mid-motion over the keyboard.
Then I look up.
And my stomach turns into stone.
Caleb.
He stands in front of the reception desk as if this place belongs to him. Hair cropped shorter than the last time I saw him, jaw lined with stubble, a smile tugging at his mouth like this is casual. Like we’re just two people who happened to cross paths again.
But his eyes betray him. Same eyes that watched me from across dark rooms. Same eyes that measured how far he could push before the bruise would show.
I grip the edge of the desk to keep my hands from shaking. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His smile deepens. “That’s not very welcoming.”
“This is a clinic. Not a place for you.”
He tilts his head, studying me the way he used to before deciding which part of me to tear down first. “Still sharp with that tongue, I see. I missed it.”
The air thickens. Celeste disappears into an exam room down the hall, the nurse beside me bends over a clipboard, and the receptionist is occupied with a call. The security officer Alec insisted we keep up front leans against the far wall, half-watching the lobby, half-bored. No one notices what Caleb really is. Not yet.
But I do.
“Leave,” I say, sharper now.
He leans against the desk, folding his arms, jacket shifting just enough for me to catch the outline of metal beneath. My lungs seize.
“Come on, Mara. Don’t be like that. I came to talk.”
“You lost that right a long time ago.”
He chuckles, low in his throat. “You always say that. But you keep listening.”
The room shrinks around us. My hand trembles as I reach under the counter and find the small can of pepper spray Alec insisted we keep there. I pull it free and aim straight for his face.
“Back up.”
His smirk falters, eyes narrowing as he tries to decide whether I’ll actually do it.
I don’t give him the chance.
The spray hisses, sharp and violent. Mist burns across his skin, and he reels back with a snarl, clutching his face, crashing into a chair that splinters to the floor.
The nurse gasps. The receptionist’s voice dies mid-sentence. The guard finally surges forward, hand going to his weapon.
But I don’t lower the can.
