Page 28 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

The silence in the car isn’t uncomfortable. It’s taut, but not threatening. Not anymore. Kade drives like someone who’s always thinking three steps ahead, but for once, I don’t feel like I’m the target of that thinking. Not exactly.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. The streetlights outside catch against the angles of his face, casting sharp shadows across his jaw. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. There’s too much I don’t want to give voice to. Not yet.

When we pull up in front of the clinic, he puts the car in park but doesn’t kill the engine. The faint hum fills the cabin like a heartbeat. He glances at me, the question in his eyes before it leaves his lips.

“You’ll be okay?”

I nod. “I’ll go up.”

He doesn’t move. He just studies me for another second before finally nodding once. “Don’t answer the door for anyone. Not even staff. Not tonight.”

His voice is edged with something too sharp to be concern alone. Possessiveness, maybe. Or guilt.

I reach for the door handle, and then I pause. “Thanks for the drive.”

His response is a slow, unreadable look. “Lock it behind you.”

I step out into the cool night, the sound of the door closing like a gunshot in the stillness. He doesn’t pull away until I’m inside the building.

The backup apartment is exactly as I left it. Sparse, clean, and cold. There’s a cot in the corner, a coffee machine on the counter, and blackout curtains drawn tight over the only window. It’s the kind of space meant for surviving, not living. But tonight, that’s enough.

I shower quickly, scrubbing away the day’s tension, Kade’s scent, and the invisible residue of eyes I can’t find. I towel off, wrap myself in a cotton robe, and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the far wall like it might offer answers.

It doesn’t.

The memory of the photo claws up from my chest. My body, curled under the sheets, and the vulnerability of sleep turned into something perverse. Someone was in that room, watching and framing.

I feel nauseous again.

I grab my journal—a new one, since the old one is buried under too much blood and implication—and I start to write. It’s not poetry or confessions. Just a log with the date, time, what I know, what I suspect, and what I fear.

I don’t hear any knocks until the third time.

My head jerks up, my spine snapping straight. I set the journal down slowly, stand, and approach the door with measured steps. I don’t say anything. I just press my ear against the wood.

“Celeste. It’s Alec.”

My pulse stutters.

I unlock the door but leave the chain on. It opens just a crack. “What are you doing here?”

His face looks drawn, his eyes shadowed. “Can I come in?”

I glance down the hallway. There’s nothing. No movement. Then, I look back at him. “Why?”

He leans in close. “Because you’re in danger. And I think I finally know why.”

My blood chills.

I undo the chain. And I let him in.

He steps inside cautiously, his hands tucked into his coat like he doesn’t want to touch anything. I close the door and lock it behind him, the click of the bolt louder than it should be.

“Talk fast,” I say, folding my arms.

Alec nods. He doesn’t sit. He just looks around once, absorbing the stark space, and then his eyes settle on mine. “I started tracing abnormal network pings last week. There are shadow entries in the patient logs, experimental files, and things that should have been deleted.”

I narrow my eyes. “What kind of files?”

He licks his lips and hesitates before answering, “Recordings. Some of them are old Miramont surveillance protocols and psychological conditioning trials. Not part of the current scope.”

My stomach knots. I already know where this is going.

“What do they have to do with me?”

Alec finally moves, perching on the edge of the small counter. “Some of the neural pattern templates? They match your biometric ID. Trial 14 is still active, Celeste. You’re not just a researcher in this place. You’re still the experiment.”

I feel my knees weaken, and I sink onto the bed.

“But that project was scrapped.”

“On paper, yes. But someone kept it alive. Someone who needed you to keep questioning your sanity.”

I think of the photo, the van, and the edits in my files.

“Who?”

He hesitates again.

I shoot him a glare. “Don’t you dare say you don’t know.”

Alec sighs. “I think it’s Kade.”

The words don’t surprise me, not really. But they still punch through something fragile in my chest.

“Why?”

He shrugs helplessly. “He has access to the legacy logs, and his behavioral modeling algorithms were used in the early design. He’s been close to you since day one. Too close.”

I run a hand down my face. “I knew it was a mistake to trust anyone.”

Alec straightens. “We can expose it, but we have to move carefully. He’s not working alone. Rourke’s covering for someone. And if we push too fast, the whole system buries us.”

I look up at him, my voice a little above a whisper. “Why are you helping me?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate this time when he answers, “Because someone has to.”

And just like that, his response makes me feel less alone.

I hand him a bottle of water from the fridge. He takes it but doesn’t drink. He just turns it over in his hands.

“I’m not sure how far the rot goes,” he says. “But this isn’t just about Trial 14. It’s about control. Long-term conditioning. You’re part of something they started building years ago.”

I grip the edge of the counter. “And I’m still wired for it.”

Alec’s jaw tightens. “You’re still reacting to patterns embedded deep. They never turned off the triggers. That’s why you feel watched and why your instincts are screaming.”

“I thought it was trauma,” I say.

“It is. Engineered trauma.”

I want to scream. But instead, I pace.

“They need to be exposed,” I tell Alec.

“I’ll help you gather everything,” Alec says. “We leak it if we have to. But we do it smart.”

A sudden thought strikes. “Have you told anyone else?”

“No. Just you.”

I study him, the tired lines around his eyes, and the weight on his shoulders.

“You’re risking a lot,” I observe.

“So are you.”

We fall into silence again, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken.

I don’t trust him fully. I can’t. But tonight, I need someone who isn’t feeding me curated truths.

And tonight, that someone might be Alec.

I sit back on the edge of the bed, my heart thudding with too many truths packed into too short a span. Alec paces once, then finally sits down across from me, resting his forearms on his knees.

“We need access to Rourke’s inner network,” he says. “It’s air-gapped for a reason. Because that’s where the deepest levels are kept. The original Trial 14 inputs, directives, and the key to whoever’s still running this behind the curtain.”

I blink. “You mean we break into the director’s terminal?”

Alec nods, slowly. “We don’t do it now. Not tonight. But we plan it. I’ll find a window when he’s out, when his system’s idle. That’s our shot.”

I rub my hands over my arms, suddenly aware of how cold the room is. “You said Kade has access to the legacy logs. That he’s too close. You think he’s manipulating me?”

“I think he believes he’s helping you,” Alec says, and something about that answer makes me go still.

“Helping me how?”

Alec hesitates, then speaks like the words are acidic in his mouth. “By conditioning you to trust him, to need him. He might not even realize how deep he’s in.”

My mouth goes dry. I think of the careful way Kade watches me, the questions he doesn’t ask, and the answers he gives just when I need them.

“That’s not protection,” I say, my voice hollow. “That’s programming.”

“Exactly.”

I rise and begin pacing. The motion helps, like moving through fog. I feel betrayed, but more than that, I feel foolish. All the times I thought Kade understood. All the moments I almost leaned into him, trusted him.

“I need air,” I mutter.

Alec watches me. “There’s the stairwell. The top floor’s empty. Roof access is sealed, but it’s quiet.”

I grab a sweater from the back of the chair. “Stay here. I just need five minutes.”

He doesn’t argue.

The stairwell is dimly lit, the hum of the emergency lights the only sound. I climb slowly, dragging my fingers along the cool rail. My thoughts swirl into chaos with memories that don’t line up and patterns I ignored.

At the top landing, I pause and lean against the wall.

What if Alec’s wrong? What if he’s the one spinning this story? I have no proof, just paranoia layered on top of exhaustion.

And yet, there’s a part of me that knows. Deep down. The part that never fully trusted the calm in Kade’s voice and the way he always seemed to arrive at the right moment.

I sink to the floor.

For a long moment, I just sit there, listening to the sound of my breath and trying to remember which part of my life is real.

I think about the look in Kade’s eyes when he warned me not to go back to my apartment.

Was that fear?

Or ownership?

And worse still, why did it feel safe?

Because something inside me wants him to be the answer. Wants the lie.

Even now.

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. I can’t afford to break. Not yet. Not when I’ve finally started piecing this together.

Eventually, I rise and walk back down the stairs.

When I return to the apartment, Alec’s still sitting there with his head down, lost in his own storm.

We don’t speak again that night.

But something has shifted between us.

And for better or worse, we’ve crossed a line that neither of us can walk back from.