Page 70 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

I stand by the window of our new clinic, watching the morning sunlight spill across the worn hardwood floors.

Outside, I can hear the faint rush of waves and the steady pull of the sea just beyond the street.

This city isn’t far from Miramont. It’s close enough that its name still lingers in conversation, but far enough to feel like we’ve crossed some invisible line.

Everything here smells like fresh paint and coffee.

No bleach. No smoke.

No ghosts.

Just sunlight, salt air, and something close to peace.

I watch Alec from across the room. He’s bent over one of the new desks with his sleeves rolled up, arranging files with that careful, precise focus he carries everywhere.

His presence feels different here.

There’s no weight of expectation between us anymore. No tension stretched thin beneath every glance.

Only comfort.

Only choice.

My fingers skim the edge of the counter, tracing the smooth, polished wood and grounding myself in the simplicity of it.

This place is ours.

Small, modest, and unassuming.

But honest.

It doesn’t need walls thick enough to bury what we used to be.

It only needs enough space to hold who we are now.

Alec glances up, catching my stare, and the faintest smile tugs at his mouth. “You look like you don’t believe it’s real,” he says, his voice warm and steady.

I let a breath slip out, my lips curving just enough to answer him. “Maybe I don’t yet,” I admit.

He stands and crosses to me without hesitation.

His hands settle at my waist, confident and certain, pulling me close until there’s no space left between us. “It is,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my temple.

“We made it real.”

I lean into him, letting the weight of it finally settle in my chest.

We did.

This is ours.

And for the first time, I believe we get to keep it.

The knock comes just as the sunlight shifts again, casting soft patterns across the floor.

I pull away from Alec, smoothing my shirt, and step to the door.

Mara stands there, wide-eyed, her expression lit with curiosity and approval as she takes in the space.

“Wow,” she says, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. Her gaze sweeps over the office, the walls, and the new furniture. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

I smile as she runs her fingers along the polished edge of the desk, her admiration unfeigned.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I tease. “Your office isn’t quite this spacious.”

She laughs, the sound bright and easy. “Oh, I already claimed the sunniest corner,” she fires back, her eyes glimmering with playful challenge. “I have standards now.”

Alec chuckles from where he leans against the desk, watching us.

“We’re setting the opening date soon,” Mara adds, turning toward me. “Everyone’s asking when we officially throw open the doors.”

I nod, thoughtful. “We’ll announce it this week,” I say. “I want it to feel ready.”

She grins, satisfied, before her gaze shifts toward the door as another knock interrupts us.

A mailman stands in the hall, holding a small envelope and a clipboard.

“Delivery for Dr. Varon,” he says, glancing at me.

I step forward, accepting the envelope and signing quickly.

The envelope is plain, unmarked except for my name in a handwriting that I recognize in an instant.

Kade.

My chest tightens.

Mara watches, her brows lifted in curiosity, but says nothing.

I thank the mailman and close the door.

Mara eyes the letter, then me. “Everything alright?” she asks, softer now.

I nod, the envelope heavy in my hand. “Fine,” I reply, though my voice feels distant.

She studies me for a second longer, then smiles.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says before heading toward her claimed corner.

I sit down slowly, still holding the letter and feeling its weight settle in my palm.

Alec watches me closely, his gaze steady but patient.

I don’t open it.

Not yet.

Some things need to wait for their moment.

I wait until Mara slips away, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.

The envelope sits on the desk between my hands, plain and simple, but it hums with something familiar.

I glance at Alec. He doesn’t speak. He just holds my gaze, steady and open.

I let out a slow breath.

Then I break the seal.

The letter unfolds with a soft, worn crackle.

I know his words before I read them. They carry the same sharp, dark humor that has always been his.

He writes about cities that forget, about quiet nights and streets that never knew his name. He talks about dismantling rotten networks in other countries and slipping through shadows with his usual ruthless precision.

But this time, there’s no weight behind it.

There’s no ache.

Instead, there’s peace.

In every carefully chosen word, there is a subtle surrender.

“Some ghosts don’t want to be exorcised,” he writes. “They just want to stretch their legs elsewhere.”

I can’t help the small, soft laugh that escapes.

And then, at the end, a line that makes me laugh, low and unexpected: Tell Alec not to get too comfortable, he teases in bold strokes of ink. Although I’m not haunting you anymore, I still think about slamming his doors just to watch him scowl.

I shake my head, smiling, and fold the letter smoothly and reverently.

There is no bitterness in this.

Only the shared understanding of two people who walked through fire together and learned when to let go.

Alec leans forward slightly, his voice gentle. “You okay?”

I look up at him, my chest lighter than it has been in a long time. “More than okay,” I say.

Because somewhere out there, Kade has found his own kind of freedom.

And here, in this room, I finally feel like I have too.

I slip the letter back into its envelope and tuck it into the drawer of my desk.

I don’t need to keep it out.

I already carry every word.

Alec watches me with that patient calm he always wears when he senses I’m carrying too much in my chest.

But this time, I feel light.

“It’s Kade,” I say simply, smiling.

Something flickers in his expression—relief, maybe.

“Good news?” he asks, his voice calm.

“Good enough,” I answer, my smile lingering.

I stand and stretch, rolling my shoulders as I walk toward him. “Come on,” I say, nudging his knee with mine.

“Where to?” His voice holds quiet amusement.

“Lunch,” I reply. “We deserve it.”

He grins, standing with easy grace, his hand catching mine before I can pull away.

We slip out of the office, leaving Mara in charge for a while. She winks as we pass, already settled behind her desk.

Outside, the air is warm, the sun high and bright.

We walk down the street toward the little cafe that opened a block away.

Everything feels different today.

Not just the letter.

Not just the clinic.

Everything.

As we settle at a table under the shade, Alec watches me with a softness I never used to believe he was capable of.

“You look lighter,” he says, his hand curling around mine on the table.

“I feel it,” I admit.

And it’s true.

There are still scars. Still shadows.

But for once, they don’t weigh me down.

They simply exist, part of the landscape, but not the horizon.

We order simple food, nothing extravagant, and as we eat, we talk about the future.

About the clinic.

About the patients we want to help.

About trips we’ll take when we can finally step away from it all.

And every word feels easy. Every plan feels possible.

We aren’t building toward survival.

We’re just building.

Together.