Page 206 of Fractured Allegiance

How long was I out?

I move to the window, press my hand against the glass.

The city below is alive with lights. Traffic. Movement.

But something feels different.

The air in the penthouse is heavier. Tenser.

Like everyone's waiting for something to happen.

And then—

A knock at the library door.

I turn.

A guard stands in the doorway. Not one of the previous ones. This man is older. Broader. His expression is carefully blank.

"Mr. Drazen requests you in the lounge," he says.

Not asks. Not invites.

Requests.

As if it's optional.

As if I have a choice.

I smooth the black dress over my hips, tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Lead the way," I say.

He steps aside, gestures down the hall.

And I follow.

The penthouse is too quiet, the kind of quiet that belongs to waiting rooms before verdicts. Every step across the marble feels like it’s broadcasting my pulse.

The walls stretching with each step. The guard doesn’t touch me. He just walks a pace ahead, trusting that I’ll trail like a shadow. But I watch him as much as I watch the path. His jawis clenched, his eyes never flick toward mine. It’s not loyalty. It’s shame.

We pass another guard at the corner. This one doesn’t meet my gaze either. His eyes slide sideways, away from me, like looking might get him punished.

The cameras hum faintly above us. But they move too late. A fraction of a second behind our steps, like someone on the other end isn’t fast enough or isn’t paying close attention.

I file it all away. The cracks, and the slowness. The shame.

Because Drazen wants proof. Dom wants obedience. But cracks? Cracks are mine. Cracks are where I live.

My heels click once, and the sound cuts through me like a promise.

If Silas is coming, he’d better come fast.

Because I’m running out of ways to pretend I’m not already his.

We take the corridor that runs along the east wing — the one with the heavy windows that only pretend to open. The guard’s stride is brisk, honed like a drill, but controlled enough to feel rehearsed. I match it, heel for heel, refusing to look smaller than I am.

Halfway down, voices rise. A shadow first, then two figures step out from the adjoining hall.