Page 65 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

Night has fully settled over the city, casting everything below in a haze of streetlights and neon.

I sit at the edge of a rooftop, high enough to watch the streets bleed into shadows, but low enough to hear the distant sirens.

My fingers toy with the blade resting on my thigh.

I’m not in a rush.

Rourke isn’t going anywhere tonight.

I trace the city lines with my eyes, watching the people below move like ghosts, unaware of the storm hanging above them.

This is the last time I’ll look at this city the same.

Rourke makes it easy.

He doesn’t run. He doesn’t hide.

He lounges in his tower, high and smug, surrounded by men too stupid to know they’re guarding a dead man.

I slip through the streets like smoke, unseen and unbothered.

But it feels different this time.

It’s not like the others. Not like Vescari.

This isn’t about revenge.

It’s about closure.

About burning the last page.

I find my way inside through an old maintenance shaft, slipping past layers of locks and guards like they were never there.

I know this building better than its owner.

Soon, I’m standing outside Rourke’s study.

I take a pause.

Then I push the door open.

Rourke doesn’t flinch.

He looks up from his desk, a glass of something expensive in his hand, swirling it lazily as if this were just another meeting.

“I expected you sooner,” he says, his voice smooth, his eyes sharp.

I step inside, letting the door shut behind me. “I had other errands,” I reply.

“Of course,” he smirks, sipping his drink.

He sets the glass down with deliberate calm.

“So this is how it ends? My own hand, turned against me?” His voice carries no fear, only something sharp and knowing.

“You brought me in,” I remind him, my tone steady. “You wanted someone who could get close. Someone who could watch her.”

“And you did,” he replies, his gaze narrowing. “Better than anyone else. You slipped right under her skin, and I let you. You knew every corner of her mind, every secret she buried.”

“That was the deal,” I say, stepping closer.

“You were supposed to report back to me,” he says, anger creeping beneath the surface. “You were mine, Kade. My wolf. You were supposed to stay loyal.”

“And you thought loyalty would survive this?” I ask, tilting my head slightly. “After what you made me do? What you made me watch?”

“You were built for this,” he snaps, his calm breaking. “You thrived in it. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You liked getting close to her. You liked playing both sides.”

I smile, cold and sharp. “Maybe I did,” I admit, my voice a subtle threat. “But I don’t take orders from dead men.”

He lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “You think killing me will save you? You think it will save her?”

“No,” I answer, pulling the knife from my belt with slow precision.

“Then why?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, defiant even now.

“Because you don’t deserve to breathe the same air,” I say, every word a blade of its own.

I move fast.

Before he can speak again, I’m on him, slamming the blade into his shoulder and pinning him to the chair.

He grunts, but he doesn’t scream.

“You always were resilient,” I mutter.

“I had to be,” he says through clenched teeth.

I twist the blade, watching his face contort. “You built this,” I say, my voice low. “Every ruined life, every broken mind. You wore it like a crown.”

“And you wear yours like armor,” he hisses.

“No,” I reply, leaning close. “I wear mine like a reminder.”

I pull the knife free, letting the blood spill freely.

“This is what you leave behind,” I say.

I strike fast, clean, ending it with one final thrust.

His body goes limp, his eyes glassy.

Silence fills the room.

I stand over him for a long time, watching the last breath leave his body.

There’s no satisfaction.

No triumph.

Only stillness.

I clean my blade, pocket it, and walk out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind me.

Let them find him like that.

Let them know what it means to be hunted.

I disappear through the halls, unseen as always.

When I step back into the night, the city feels lighter.

I don’t go far.

Just to the edges of the city, where it’s all calm and still.

I check into a nameless hotel, the kind where payment is taken in cash and no one looks twice.

In the room, I sit by the window, staring out at the lights.

I think of Celeste.

I think of the way her eyes burned.

Of the way her voice never wavered.

I know I can’t go back to her.

Not now.

Not after what I’ve done.

I pull out a piece of paper and scrawl a note with steady hands : If you ever need the wolf again, leave a message where only I would look. I’ll find it.

I fold it neatly and tuck it into my coat.

Then, I settle back, watching the city move.

I don’t know where I’ll go from here.

Maybe I’ll disappear.

Maybe I’ll find a new hunt.

But right now, I’m content to be the ghost that makes sure she breathes easier.

Hours pass. The city outside grows still, the streets emptying into darkness.

I stay by the window, unmoving, my eyes tracing every passing car, every flicker of a streetlamp.

In the stillness, I let the memories come.

Not of the killings.

But of her.

Her voice, fierce and sharp, the way she defied me, the way she understood me.

The only person who didn’t flinch when she looked into my darkness.

I wonder what she’ll do now.

Whether she’ll burn the world or build something new from its ashes.

Part of me wants to watch. But another part knows I can’t.

She deserves a clean slate, not shadows waiting in the corner.

I take the folded note from my coat again, running my thumb over the edge.

It’s not a tether.

It’s a promise.

One that I hope she never has to use.

I slip it back inside.

I stay this way all through the night. Sleep doesn’t find me. Maybe I don’t deserve it.

In the early hours of the morning, I rise, leaving the window.

I have nothing to pack.

And I don’t leave a trace.

When I walk out of the hotel, the morning air swallows me whole.

No destination.

No plan.

Only freedom.

And the steady certainty that I’ll never be far if she calls.

Not ever.

I don’t leave the city right away.

Not yet.

I have one more thing to do.

I head toward her place just before dawn, when the streets are empty, and the air carries that strange, muted stillness.

I keep to the edges, unseen.

I settle in my usual spot at the bakery across from her apartment.

The place is beginning to stir, soft and warm with the scent of rising dough and fresh-brewed coffee.

The workers move with efficiency, placing trays of pastries into display cases and stacking bread loaves behind fogged glass.

There’s a familiar rhythm here—whisks against metal bowls, the soft clink of plates being set down, the hum of ovens heating up the morning.

I sit tucked in the corner near the window, half-shielded by a pillar, a black coffee cooling between my hands.

Outside, I watch her apartment.

The lights remain off. She’s likely still asleep or lost in thought, unaware of the eyes watching from the other side of the street.

For a brief moment, I wonder if she ever knew I installed cameras there, once. It seems like a long time now, a long time since I was the shadow in her walls.

I think of those feeds now—empty frames and quiet rooms—but I already dismantled the network days ago.

I didn’t need it anymore.

Watching her through the glass feels different now. More distant and safer.

I don’t get close.

I know better than that.

But I sit there for a while, staring at the faint sway of her curtains, comforted by the softness of it.

From here, the apartment looks still, untouched by the chaos that always seems to follow us.

It feels like peace.

Safe, at least for now.

I pull out the folded note from my coat, unfolding it and smoothing the creases with careful fingers.

The words come slower this time. More deliberate.

I take out a pen, letting the ink bleed onto the page as I write.

You don’t owe me anything.

Whatever was between us—whatever still burns in the dark corners—you’re free of it.

I don’t regret what we shared.

But I won’t be another chain around your throat.

I hope you build something better.

Something without ghosts like me.

If you ever need me, leave a message. You know how.

But if you don’t, I’ll disappear.

And I’ll never haunt you again.”

I don’t sign it.

She’ll know.

I wait for the bakery to be still, the crowd thinning as the morning rush starts.

Then I leave, stepping into the cold, folding the letter carefully.

The bakery door swings shut behind me, the scent of coffee lingering on my coat as I disappear into the morning light.

I cross the street and slip the note through her door.

Quick and silent.

And then I walk away without looking back.