Page 75 of Fractured Loyalties
I head for the side hallway that leads to the coat alcove. There’s a window there—small, square, meant for ventilation more than light. I pull out my phone.
One new message.
Elias: The man in the hat—gone. Couldn’t follow.
I type fast.
Mara: I saw him. Just for a second. Then he vanished.
Elias: He wasn’t alone.
My heart lands somewhere behind my ribs and stays there.
I grip the phone tighter, then tuck it away and stare out the narrow window like it might give me answers.
But it only shows me the dark.
The window gives me nothing. Just a pane of reflection and a thickness in my chest that feels like it belongs to someone else.
I step back. Slow. Controlled. Like any sudden movement might alert something I can’t name.
My fingers curl around my phone again. Not to text. Just to feel the weight of it. I let my thumb skim over the last message.
He wasn’t alone.
He never is.
I step out of the hallway and back into the main dining room, smoothing the tension from my face like it’s makeup I can wipe off. But I know I don’t pull it off. Not fully.
Alec notices.
His eyes track me as I return to my seat. He doesn’t ask, but his mouth presses into something too careful to be casual.
The table’s a little louder now. More wine has been poured. The girls from admin are recounting a patient story with a sharp turn—something about a therapy dog and a badly timed allergic reaction. Everyone laughs too loud at the punchline, likethey’re trying to make the moment stretch wider than it wants to go.
I smile. Or something like it.
Alec leans toward me slightly. “Are you sure you’re good?”
I nod. “The bathroom was just loud. The lights were weird.”
He doesn’t buy it. But he lets it go.
Celeste slides a plate toward me, piled with something green and roasted. “You missed the chaos,” she says. “I swear, if Josh spills one more thing on his lap, I’m filing a claim.”
I murmur a soft thanks and pick up my fork.
But my eyes flick to the window again. The mirror. The door.
Nothing.
Nothing but Elias, out there somewhere, watching with a stillness I can almost feel. And if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that silence isn’t absence. It’s a strategy.
Alec reaches for the wine bottle, refills his own glass. “So,” he says, looking right at me, “who was the guy?”
The room shifts.
Celeste stiffens for half a second.
