Page 57 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

I don’t even remember falling asleep.

One moment, I was staring at the photos on my tablet, her secrets spread before me like a map of every wrong I was too blind to see. The next, I’m blinking against the harsh light of morning filtering through the slats of my window, my neck stiff, my body heavy.

I sit up slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, the weight of exhaustion settling like a stone on my chest. My mind feels like it’s been scraped raw, and I can’t tell if it’s from the dreams or the waking.

I glance at the tablet still clutched in my lap, the screen dark.

Her box. Her past. Her war.

It all plays behind my eyes like a reel I can’t stop.

I stand, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders. There’s work to be done.

Names. Faces. Coordinates. The ones I gave her last night in surrender, and the ones I still keep hidden, even from myself.

They all deserve to burn.

I dress with precision, every movement calculated. I put on a dark shirt, tailored pants, and a jacket to mask the lingering bruises she left. I tighten my cuffs, slide my watch onto my wrist, and check my reflection in the mirror.

I’m composed, dangerous, and deceptive.

Exactly as I need to be.

I leave the apartment with steady steps, the morning air biting against my skin. My path to the clinic feels longer than usual, every stride weighed down by what I now know.

But I won’t flinch.

Not yet.

As I walk through the glass doors, I catch sight of Alec down the hall, heading toward his wing.

Our eyes meet.

Brief.

Sharp.

He looks away first, but not before I catch the faintest flicker of something beneath his carefully neutral mask.

He’s been dragging her attention for too long, making her laugh in places I can’t see, and holding her in ways I haven’t allowed myself to watch.

I let it slide. For now.

I have other wars to fight.

I slip into my office, shutting the door behind me and settling into the chair like slipping into a second skin.

And then I wait.

Because I know her.

And I know she’ll come.

The knock comes an hour later.

It’s soft. Purposeful.

I don’t answer.

She opens the door anyway.

Celeste.

She’s dressed in a sleek, form-fitting dress—sharp and controlled—and every line of her body hums with gentle command. “Get up,” she says, her voice soft but edged with steel.

There’s no pretense in her tone, no room for games.

I rise without a word, slipping my tablet into my pocket and adjusting my jacket as I stand.

Her eyes rake over me, cool and assessing.

“We go now,” she says.

“Now?” I arch a brow, though my pulse kicks at the idea of it.

“You said you’d take me there,” she reminds me, her voice steady but cold. “Sublevel two. Archive wing. No delays. No excuses. It’s time.”

She doesn’t wait for my response. She turns and walks out, expecting me to follow.

And I do.

We move through the hushed hallways of the clinic, our footsteps muted against the polished floors.

Then we go down.

Past Diagnostics.

Past restricted wards.

To the lower levels where few ever walk.

Sublevel two.

The air grows colder and denser, and the walls hum with old wiring and forgotten systems.

She leads with purpose, and I follow without hesitation.

We reach the archive wing—a locked hall sealed off behind biometric scanners long since disabled but still humming faintly.

I step forward, entering Rourke’s access code.

The door unlocks with a reluctant hiss.

We slip inside.

The archive is dark, lined with old storage units and forgotten tech. Dust hangs in the air like ghosts waiting to be stirred.

She doesn’t speak.

And neither do I.

I lead her through the maze of old systems, my steps sure.

We stop at an unmarked terminal tucked behind an old partition wall.

I kneel, pulling away the cover.

There it is.

The key to everything.

I glance back at her once, meeting her gaze.

No words are needed.

I retrieve it.

I slip the drive into my pocket, feeling the weight of it settle against me like a ticking bomb.

She watches every move I make, unblinking. “Where do we decrypt it?” she asks, her voice low.

“My secured terminal,” I answer without hesitation. “In the archive vault.”

She nods once. “Lead the way.”

I rise, and we move deeper into the labyrinth, toward the vault.

Behind us, the air seems to close in, thick with the gravity of what we’re about to unleash.

We reach the final door, which is locked by a manual key and a passcode only I know.

I unlock it, pushing the door open.

Inside, the vault hums with quiet power, the old systems still alive, forgotten by most.

I move to the console, entering the sequence.

She stands behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of her breath against my neck.

“Show me,” she orders.

I slot the drive in.

And the screen lights up.

Coordinates to the offshore server under Meridian’s shell firms, server locations, and names of those who have ever financed the clinic and its projects, one way or the other.

Her eyes narrow, scanning the data.

I hear the sharp intake of her breath.

“It’s real,” she murmurs.

“Every file. Every backup. Everything they’ve hidden.”

She leans in closer, her voice soft but lethal.

“Then we dismantle it. All of it,” she says, her tone slicing through the air.

Her gaze flickers toward the screen, her eyes sharp as glass.

“We wipe this drive,” she continues, her voice calm but purposeful, “and we take every copy with it. Including the offshore server hidden under Meridian’s shell firms.” She glances back at me, her voice tightening.

“We can’t just burn it here. We have to erase every backup they’ve stashed away, or they’ll just rebuild it elsewhere. ”

I nod slowly, following her logic as it unfolds with ruthless precision.

Meridian’s offshore server isn’t just some distant archive. It’s a fortress of encrypted data hidden behind layers of shell corporations and security protocols, located far from the clinic on servers leased through discreet international holdings.

To destroy it, we will need not only the access keys she now has, but also to initiate a targeted digital wipe using authorized credentials—the only way to penetrate the firewall.

“We take this,” she taps the drive lightly, “then we launch the strike against the offshore server through secure channels they won’t expect. We erase their last defense before they even realize they’re under attack.”

And in that moment, I know there’s no stopping her.

I pull up the last layer of encryption, my fingers steady on the keys.

The server pulses on the screen, waiting for the final command.

“They buried it deep,” I murmur.

She watches me closely, her gaze unwavering. “Unlock it,” she says.

I enter the final code.

The files begin to unlock, one after another.

Blueprints, patient profiles, neural maps, and full documentation of experimental protocols.

The clinic’s entire dark history, laid bare.

She inhales slowly, taking it in, her expression unreadable.

“This is everything,” I say, my voice low.

“It’s not enough to just see it,” she replies, her voice calm but razor-edged. “We can’t just destroy the local copy. We have to hit the offshore backups too. Meridian’s server is their safety net. If we don’t wipe it, they’ll just rebuild elsewhere.”

I nod, the weight of it sinking deep.

“We use this drive to initiate the breach,” she continues, her tone slicing through the static hum of the vault.

“With your access and their own system keys, we inject the purge code into the secure channel and wipe the offshore server before they can react. Once that’s done, we’ll burn every local node tied to it. ”

Her logic is brutal, but flawless.

“We take this data with us,” she finishes, tapping the drive lightly, her voice cold with resolve. “Then we erase it all. No loopholes. No survivors. And we’ll dismantle every last name involved.”

Her eyes lock on mine, sharp and cutting.

“We watch them fall,” she says, her every word like a strike of a match.

I stare at her, at this force of devastation she’s become.

And I know there’s no turning back.

“Together,” I agree, my voice steady.

She leans in, her breath ghosting over my ear. “Get ready,” she whispers.

Because this isn’t the start of the war.

It’s the moment we end it.

I don’t waste time.

As soon as she speaks those words, I begin typing and pulling up the purge interface embedded within the encrypted layers of the drive.

The code is precise.

Ruthless.

It crawls through the directory trees like wildfire, searching, targeting, and setting the countdown.

“Sixty-eight minutes,” I mutter, watching the clock initiate.

Celeste watches with calm and terrifying focus. “Good. It’s enough.”

The purge will rip through everything here first. Every stored node, every hidden folder, every residual trace of their experiments.

And after that?

The offshore servers.

I can see the mapped route blinking on the screen, already tracing the worm into Meridian’s networks. Layers of shell companies, false holdings, and fake executives, nothing more than smoke and mirrors shielding their vault.

But the drive’s keys bypass every layer.

“Once this finishes,” I say, glancing at her, “the offshore server will open to us.”

She nods. “And then we finish it.”

There’s no hesitation in her. No fear.

Only resolve.

The first purge begins, systematically shredding through every local node and cutting deeper with every passing second.

She turns toward me, her eyes sharp.

“We’ll need to move fast,” she says. “Once they notice the breach, they’ll try to shut it down. If they sever the offshore link before we finish, the data could survive.”

“Then we’ll strike before they can blink,” I reply, my voice low.

She watches the screen, her lips curving just slightly. “We strike,” she echoes.

And I know we both mean it.

This isn’t just destruction.

It’s execution.

We watch the purge progress together, every second dragging us closer to the edge.

“When this finishes,” I say, “there’s no way back. No recovery. Not even for us.”

She glances at me, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t want a way back,” she says simply.

Her words settle deep, cutting through everything I thought I knew about her.

She’s already burned her bridges.

And she has no intention of stopping.

The terminal beeps softly, indicating the purge is nearing completion.

Sixty-three minutes remaining.

“We leave as soon as it finishes,” she says.

I nod, adrenaline coiling tight in my chest. “And after that?” I ask, my voice rough.

She turns fully toward me, her expression unreadable but fierce. “Then we go after Meridian,” she says.

Her voice holds no room for mercy.

“We take down their empire, Kade,” she continues, her tone cold and calculated. “And we make sure no one like them ever rises again.”

I stare at her, at the fire in her eyes.

And I realize, maybe for the first time, that I’m not just watching her wage war. I’m standing in it with her.

And I have no plans to walk away.

“Then we finish what we started,” I say.

She holds my gaze for one long second.

Then she turns back to the screen, watching as the last of the local data crumbles.

Her voice is calm and steady. “We can’t stay here.”

I nod, already pulling up a secure line to lock down the remaining traces and seal the system. “Sixty-three minutes left. That gives us enough time to vanish.”

“Good,” she says, her tone razor-sharp. “We find a place to watch it all burn. Somewhere safe.”

We leave the room together, moving fast through the dim corridors of the clinic and slipping through staff exits without a trace.

Fifteen minutes later, we find a worn-down motel on the outskirts, the kind of place no one asks questions. A flickering vacancy sign welcomes us into anonymity.

Inside the room, she locks the door and draws the curtains tight.

We sit on the edge of the bed, side by side, the laptop glowing between us.

The timer keeps counting down.

And as we watch the numbers fall, we know there’s no turning back.

The war isn’t coming.

It’s already here.