Page 22 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

I should’ve just kept walking. But the second Kade steps out of the shadows, his voice hushed as he mentions the van—the same one I’ve caught circling the edges of my world for weeks—my breath falters.

I don’t flinch from surprise. I flinch because someone else finally sees it too.

Because the fear I’ve been folding neatly under logic just ripped through its cover.

My chest tightens. “At first I thought I was imagining it,” I say, keeping my voice even, my arms folding across my middle. “I tried not to feed into it. But it keeps showing up. Waiting.”

He studies me without blinking. “Then maybe it’s not a coincidence. Maybe someone wants us to feel watched.”

The words settle into my skin like splinters. Someone does. They’ve wanted it for a while now. And now he sees it, too. It makes it real in a way I’d been trying to avoid admitting—solid and unshakable.

I nod once, almost to myself, and then turn toward the sidewalk, my breath sharp in my lungs as I start walking. I need space and distance, anything to keep my thoughts from sinking deeper into the subtle panic starting to bloom inside me.

Has he always known where I live? How long has he been this close without me seeing it? The idea settles like lead in my chest, a cold awareness that he might have been near longer than I realized, and I never once sensed it.

The thought crawls under my skin as the rest of our conversation slips into background noise—a low, steady thrum of realization too loud to ignore. It’s an agreement, not a conspiracy. Not paranoia. Just shared awareness. The most dangerous kind.

I walk away from him after the conversation, my thoughts spiraling. If he stays close by, maybe he’s the one being watched. Maybe they’re tracking his every step instead of mine. But then, why the strange discrepancies at the clinic?

The flagged reports, the misplaced files—signs I can’t ignore. It doesn’t add up. Unless we’re both caught in something bigger. Something that sees more than it should.

I suddenly need air and some space. Something that doesn’t wear a name tag or carry a clipboard.

My steps are automatic, leading me out of the district, past the cafes and alleyways that blur into a more reserved part of town. By the time I reach the old bar on Trent Street, the sun has sunk down enough to smear the horizon in blood-orange streaks.

I haven’t been here in months.

Inside, it’s dim and unremarkable. Perfect.

I order a whiskey. Neat.

One turns into two. Then three. The weight in my chest loosens its grip.

I claim a booth in the back corner, the kind that hugs your body and your secrets in equal measure. The cracked leather creaks beneath me as I sink deeper, my fingers curling around the glass.

Kade’s voice replays in my mind over and over. It’s the same van, same guy, same plates. Parked with purpose.

So I’m not spiraling. I’m not imagining things.

Someone is watching me.

It’s a small relief. And an even bigger terror.

My mind goes back to my own findings about the same van and its fake plate, but I couldn’t tell that to Kade.

Around midnight, I leave the bar. My steps are slow, heavy with heat and liquor, but measured. My apartment isn’t far. And there’s no van in sight.

Not that I trust that.

I reach my building door and linger, my eyes scanning the shadows, the parked cars, and the street’s too-perfect stillness. It looks clean. Untouched.

I go inside.

As I enter my apartment, I peel off my coat and let it fall.

In the kitchen, I grab a leftover container from the fridge, throw it in the microwave, and program it to heat for ninety seconds. The hum of the machine fills the room as I pad down the hall and undress with slow, almost ceremonial movements.

Everything about tonight needs to come off. My jacket, shirt, bra, and jeans. The tank top and shorts I pull on afterward feel like borrowed skin.

Back in the kitchen, I retrieve the warm food, take a few bites standing by the counter, then carry the rest to the couch. The cushions accept me like an old friend.

I eat slowly, my mind blanking with each mouthful until the fork falls from my hand and the plate slips to the side. I blink, then push off the couch, too tired to process much, and walk down the short hallway toward the bedroom.

I collapse onto the bed without ceremony. My body sinks into the mattress, my limbs heavy and unruly from the liquor and whatever tension has been living in my spine for days. The sheets are cool against my skin. Familiar. I roll onto my side and close my eyes.

Sleep drags me under fast, before I can question anything else.

I don’t notice the faint red light blinking once above the closet door.

Until it’s morning.

And far too late.

I wake to a metallic taste in my mouth and the distinct scent of antiseptic under my skin.

It’s not real. It can’t be real. But it lingers like the phantom pressure of something I don’t remember consenting to.

My eyes open slowly, catching the faintest spill of morning light against my bedroom wall.

It’s noon. Later than I intended. Later than usual.

I sit up, the sheets crinkling beneath me, too cold against my legs. My mind is already busy, sifting through fragments I didn’t dream but remember. The sounds. A presence in the dark that wasn’t mine. A rhythm that repeats.

I shower quickly, trying not to think about the eyes I swore I felt the night before. There’s no evidence of them now. There’s no van, no window cracked the wrong way. Nothing but the persistent sense of being threaded into someone else’s narrative. It makes my stomach tighten.

I skip breakfast. I don’t want the taste. Instead, I run my fingers over the spine of the journal on my table. The one I restarted last week. The one I keep writing in with someone else’s handwriting.

It’s time to see Reyes.

The day at Miramont moves at a crawl, muffled in its own stillness. My boots echo too sharply on the polished floors. People glance at me, but I don’t meet their eyes. If I see recognition there, I might break something.

At my desk, I pull up the revised logs Mara flagged two days ago. It started with the diagnostics suite. A timestamp she hadn’t scheduled. Then, again, in the simulation lab. Minor entries and nothing damaged or corrupted, just out of place. Too consistent to be accidental.

And today, there’s another. My name… in a module I never accessed.

I feel it. The slow creep of dread, crawling up the base of my spine. Someone’s still inside. Someone who knows how to wear my ID like a second skin.

By late afternoon, I’ve run out of distractions. I need answers. The kind only Reyes can give, if he still will.

I find him in the third wing, where the walls are thicker and fewer people linger. He’s hunched over a terminal, his eyes narrowed like the screen has betrayed him.

“Dr. Reyes.”

He doesn’t look up right away. Then, finally, slowly, he does.

“Celeste. I was starting to think you’d disappeared.”

“Almost,” I say. “I need to ask you something. And I need you not to lie.”

He takes a long breath as he leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “Go on.”

I tell him everything I’ve been seeing—the surveillance van, the access logs, the changes to my ID string. I don’t tell him about Kade or my discussions with him. Not yet. I watch his face, measuring every twitch.

He listens carefully, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. When I finish, he exhales like something has been waiting to get out.

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “Someone’s in the system. And not just watching but manipulating. It’s been happening for months. But it’s gotten worse since you accessed that flash drive.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I did. I’m the one who gave it to Alec. I was hoping he would give it to you.”

That stops me, and my spine stiffens.

“Why?”

“Because you needed to see what was done to you. What you helped design. Even if you don’t remember.”

The room tilts slightly. The floor doesn’t feel stable anymore.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying someone is trying to erase your past, piece by piece. And the more you remember, the more dangerous it becomes for them.”

My mouth is dry. I nod once, then again, because it’s the only thing keeping me standing. “Who? Who is trying to erase me?”

He hesitates. Long enough that it matters.

“I don’t know. But I think someone very high up does.”

And with that, the fracture widens.

By the time I return to my lab, the lights feel too bright, and my skin itches with something I can’t touch. I feel the walls are now closer than usual, and every surface is humming.

Mara finds me at 7 p.m.

She looks tired and paler than usual, her eyes red-rimmed. She says nothing until we’re behind the door, and the lab is locked.

Then she hands me something.

A small, crumpled photograph.

I unfold it.

It’s a blurry shot of me. In my apartment. Sleeping.

My pulse drops, and the photo trembles slightly in my hand. I don’t scream. I don’t speak. I just sit down, staring at the image until it blurs again, this time from tears.

“Where did you get this?” My voice is thin, almost brittle.

Mara doesn’t answer right away as her throat works around something invisible. “It was slipped into my locker. There was no note, no explanation. Just that.”

I look at her, really look. Her fear isn’t loud, but it’s deep, drawn in the lines beneath her eyes. “You think they’re watching you now, too?”

She shakes her head slowly. “I think they always were. But this isn’t just surveillance. This is personal. This is targeted.”

I fold the photo again, tighter this time, into a square that feels too sharp.

“Someone broke into my apartment.”

Mara nods. “And they wanted you to know.”

“Remember the other day I wanted us to talk offsite?” I say. “I’d wanted someone to talk to about how I’ve been feeling like I’m being watched, but we never got the chance to talk.”

“Oh my God, Dr. Varon,” she says, almost looking like she’ll burst into tears. “How long has this been going on?”

My stomach twists. This isn’t just about being watched anymore. It’s about being hunted.

“We need to trace this,” I whisper. “We need to know who sent it, who had access.” I was strategically ignoring the question.

Mara reaches across the table, her hand brushing mine briefly. “I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

For the first time in days, I don’t feel entirely alone.

But the fear doesn’t ease. It sharpens.

Because now, I know what I’m up against.

And it’s only just begun.

I look at Mara again, the image of the photo still burning in my mind.

“There’s something else,” I say. “I haven’t told you about the van.

It’s been parked near my apartment for weeks, maybe longer.

Sometimes, it moves away, but then, it’ll be back again.

I tried to ignore it, thought maybe I was being paranoid. ”

Her expression sharpens. “That’s… unsettling. You’ve seen it more than once?”

I nod. “And there’s someone else. Someone who brought it up to me before I said anything. Who claimed to see it too.”

“Who?”

“Kade,” I whisper, the name tasting foreign in my mouth. “He stopped me outside the clinic yesterday, out of nowhere, and said he noticed the same van. He said it looked like someone was watching. That he feels like he’s being watched too.”

I glance at Mara, then away. “I didn’t even know he lived nearby. The way he said it… it was like it wasn’t a coincidence. Like we were somehow in this together.” My voice falters, the weight of his words clinging to me.

Mara blinks. The name seems to knock her off balance for a moment. “And you believed him?”

“I don’t know. That’s the worst part. I don’t know what I believe anymore.” I exhale sharply, pressing my palms to my knees. “He didn’t seem surprised. Just… concerned. But I haven’t ruled out that it’s manipulation.”

“We should assume everyone is compromised,” Mara mutters. “Anyone who’s noticed the van, and anyone showing sudden interest in your behavior. Kade included.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest thickens.

“You think others might be watched too?” I ask. “Reyes, Alec, maybe even you?”

“If they’re tracking you, they’re tracking proximity. That’s how these systems work. It’s not about you alone. It’s about who you’re close to.”

I shiver. “Then we’re all exposed.”

Mara folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Then we fight smarter. We go with caution, and we trace the data ourselves. No emails. No shared drives. Just us.”

Her resolve cuts through the fog in my head. I find myself nodding again, this time not out of fear, but decision.

“Alright,” I say. “We go quiet.”

Outside, the building hums like a machine dreaming in its sleep. But inside, something is finally beginning to wake.