Page 52 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

We agree to meet again tonight after dark, after the clinic empties. It has to be strategic—no sudden moves, no emotional outbursts, and no rash decisions that get us caught before we even make our first strike.

Celeste warns me before we leave the clinic, her voice firm and steady as steel. “My aunt said they’ll be watching everything now. She told me to be careful, Alec. Very careful. They don’t need another excuse to make people disappear.”

Her words sit like a stone in my gut for the rest of the day.

I spend the entire afternoon buried in logistics, running loops in my head—ways to shield her, ways to cut our losses clean if everything spirals too far.

Every plan feels half-formed, either too weak or too reckless.

I can’t focus on the clinic tasks. I can barely meet Reyes’ eyes without imagining how all this might end.

By early evening, it has settled in my chest like something rotting.

I can’t let her do this. Not alone. Not here.

As the sun drops behind the hills, I make my decision.

I’ll tell her tonight. She has to run and leave everything behind before it’s too late. I’m willing to go with her if she wants. I’ll drop everything and burn my career to ash just to get her out of this alive.

I’m already walking toward her office when I meet her halfway, just as she’s slipping out from her last meeting of the day.

The clinic is winding down around us, footsteps fading as the staff move out for the night.

She has her coat draped over one arm, her hair slightly disheveled, and a sharp look in her eyes that tells me she hasn’t stopped thinking about everything since this morning.

“You waited,” she says, her voice low but not surprised.

“I said I would,” I reply.

She studies me for a moment, then tilts her head toward the exit. “Walk with me.”

We fall into step together, the faint hum of the building’s closing routines buzzing in the background. It’s just past sunset, the sky outside still holding onto the last edge of light.

“Did you think all day about what you’re going to tell me?” she asks, half a challenge, half a genuine question.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

“And?”

I glance at her, the words heavy on my tongue.

“I know you won’t like what I’m about to say,” I begin, my voice measured as we keep walking through the hushed halls. The fluorescent lights flicker above us, their hum like a muted warning. “But you need to leave Miramont. Tonight, if you can. Disappear before they notice your next move.”

She pauses at the side door leading out of the building, her hand on the handle, but she doesn’t push it open yet.

“And you?” she asks, not looking at me.

I step closer, keeping my voice steady.

“I’d go with you,” I say, every word carved from something sharp inside me. “Anywhere you want to go.”

She pushes the door open and lets it swing shut behind us as we move out of the clinic.

“You think running will fix this?” she asks, her voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“No, but it might keep you alive,” I say, my voice rough, my eyes following every subtle shift in her posture.

She lifts her gaze, locking eyes with me, and something about the way she stares makes the air thinner and tighter.

“I can’t leave,” she says, her voice steady, but with something darker threading beneath it. “I won’t be another name on their list of victims. I’m going to burn every last name on that list before they even think about erasing me.”

“Celeste—”

“You know what they did to me,” she cuts in, her body closing the space between us in a breath. Her words strike with the heat of a brand against my skin. “You showed me. You witnessed it. And you expect me to walk away?”

I can’t answer. My throat locks tight around the truth neither of us wants to face.

“You’re not ready to fight them,” I manage finally, my voice low. “You haven’t slept. You’re not thinking clearly. You still have the Heretic Loop to finish. And once it goes live, there won’t be a way back. No undoing what comes after.”

She stills mid-step, standing right there on the sidewalk just outside the clinic. The streetlights cast a soft glow around her, and she curls her hand into a tight fist at her side, her knuckles whitening with how hard she holds herself in place.

“That’s the point,” she says, her voice like a razor’s edge.

We finish the walk to her apartment in silence, the tension thick between us. The streets are empty at this hour, our footsteps barely breaking through the heavy air.

Neither of us speaks because every word feels too sharp to voice right now.

By the time we reach her door, there’s nothing left but the weight of everything we didn’t say.

She unlocks the door, her movements steady, then glances at me.

“Come in if you want,” she says, her tone flat. “But don’t expect me to change my mind.”

I follow her inside, the stillness of her apartment making the storm between us feel even louder.

I watch her cross to the window and stare out at the streets below as if she can already see the storm she’s about to unleash.

“You think they’ll just let you do it?” I ask.

She glances back, her smile razor-thin. “I’m not asking for their permission.”

“You think Kade will let you?” I press, the name a deliberate blade.

Her jaw clenches. She turns back fully, walking toward me with steady, measured steps.

“Kade isn’t the threat right now,” she says, her tone cold and flat.

I can’t help myself. I lean forward, closing the space between us. “He will be,” I murmur. “If you think for a second he won’t stop you, you’re underestimating how far his obsession will go. He won’t care about your freedom. He never has.”

She doesn’t back down. Her breath ghosts between us, sharp with fury.

“Then he can try,” she says, almost softly.

“Celeste—”

“I’m not leaving,” she cuts in again. “And if you can’t accept that, you can go.”

I close my eyes, breathing deep and trying to force calm into the roiling mess inside me. “I don’t want to leave you,” I finally say. “I just want you to survive this.”

Her voice softens, just a fraction. “I won’t survive it, Alec,” she says. “Not the way you mean. But I can still win.”

I lean back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

“You sound like him,” I say, and the words hit the air with more venom than I intend.

Her eyes darken, and she tilts her head slightly, studying me with unsettling precision. “No,” she says. “I sound like me. You just don’t recognize her yet.”

That lands harder than anything else.

She crosses to the bedroom, and I trail behind her, not moving past the door. I rest against the door as I watch her move to the bed and drop to her knees to pull out a worn box.

Her movements are dragged but certain, as if this ritual has become something sacred. She sets it gently on the bed, her fingers gliding over the lid before she lifts it.

One by one, she sifts through its contents with delicate precision, touching each faded photograph and brittle page like she’s cataloging the dead, her expression blank but steady, as if these relics are the only truths she still trusts.

“If you stay,” she says, not looking up, “it has to be on my terms. No more trying to save me. No more pulling me back.”

“And if I can’t do that?”

She glances at me then, her gaze cutting.

“Then you leave tonight,” she says, calm and absolute.

I swallow the knot rising in my throat. “You know I won’t be able to stop myself if things go south.”

“Then you’ll only make it worse,” she replies, and I hate how right she is.

I stare at her, watching the woman I thought I knew splinter into something sharper and more dangerous. “You really are ready to burn it all,” I say.

She smiles then, slow and terrible. “I already started the fire,” she replies.

The air thickens until it’s almost suffocating.

She closes the box, pressing the lid down with a steady hand.

“You don’t have to be here for this,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

I shake my head once, resolute. “I’m already here,” I answer. “I’m not leaving you tonight.”

For a second, something flickers in her expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“Then you’ll watch me finish what they started,” she says.

She lifts the box and moves back toward me.

I turn to watch her pass, heading into the living room.

I follow, keeping pace as she goes to the desk, she sits and tucks the box under the desk, then she pulls open her laptop with a smooth, practiced motion.

The screen lights her face in blue, turning her features almost ghostly.

Lines of code ripple across the screen as she opens the Heretic Loop.

I watch, unable to tear my eyes away, as she begins to weave her vengeance into reality.

Every keystroke is a dagger.

And she doesn’t hesitate once.

I move and take a seat across from her, watching the rapid flicker of her fingers on the keyboard, the cold precision in every move. It feels like watching someone disassemble a bomb, except she’s the one who planted it.

“You know, once this is in motion, there’s no undoing it,” I say, my voice low.

She doesn’t even look at me. “That’s the point.”

“You could still walk away,” I push, even though I know I’m too late. “We could disappear. Burn the evidence and leave them to rot on their own.”

Her lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. “They don’t rot. They rebuild. That’s what they’ve always done.”

Her words are calm, but her hands betray her. There’s the slightest tremble in her fingers as she executes another string of code. I see it, but I don’t point it out.

“I’m not letting them build again,” she finishes.

I glance at the window. The street outside is empty, the world oblivious to the war starting in this room.

“Celeste,” I say her name softly, meaning to cut through the haze. “If you do this, you can’t come back from it.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, steady and sure. “I’m not planning to.” She inputs the final command, her voice barely above a breath. “Done.”

The code compiles, locking itself into place.

She leans back in her chair, finally still, her breath shallow but even. The quiet that follows is heavier than the storm before it.

I don’t speak. I just watch her.

“Tomorrow,” she says, breaking the silence, “I upload it into the clinic’s system.”

I feel it settle deep in my chest—the point of no return.

“Then what?” I ask, though I already know.

She stands and moves toward the window, her silhouette sharp against the glass.

“Then we watch it burn,” she says softly.

I rise too, standing behind her, close enough to feel the tension still humming through her body.

“And after that?” I press, knowing I need to hear it.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine with unwavering certainty.

“After that?” she repeats, her voice like smoke and steel.

She leans in, her words ghosting against my lips. “We survive.”