Page 209 of Fractured Loyalties

So I just nod once, my hand still refusing to let go.

Alec sees it. He knows. His voice stays firm but softer now, threaded with something that makes me want to sink or lash out—I can’t tell which. “Give it to me, Mara.”

I shake my head. My throat feels raw. “No.”

His mouth tenses, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t push. He just keeps his hand there, warm and steady, until the can eases down by inches, my grip loosening enough for him to take it.

The door at the far end opens again. Not Caleb. Someone else.

Celeste.

Her heels strike the tile like punctuation. She takes in the mess in one glance: the overturned chair, the guard with his radio, the papers scattered, the smell of pepper spray still clinging to the air. Her gaze finds me last. And it holds.

“Tell me,” she says, and it isn’t a question.

The receptionist stammers something about “a man—violent—security stepped in.”

The guard adds, “It’s under control.”

Alec says nothing. He doesn’t move his hand from my wrist.

But Celeste isn’t listening to them. She’s watching me. Measuring. I know that look. It’s the same one she’s given patients who sit across from her in the clinic’s counseling rooms—trying to decide if they’re about to break or if they’ve already broken.

I want to say something. To explain. To tell her I’m fine. The words don’t come. My chest feels bound tight, throat burning.

Her eyes narrow, just slightly. But she doesn’t press. She turns instead to Alec. “Get her out of reception. Take her to the back.”

Alec nods. His hand leaves my wrist to settle against my shoulder, guiding me toward the hallway. My feet move because his pressure tells them to, not because I’ve chosen.

As we pass the front glass, something tugs at me. A flicker at the corner of vision. I glance sideways.

And there she is.

Lydia.

Across the street, leaning against the hood of a dark sedan like she belongs there. Phone in hand, head tilted down as if she’s scrolling—but I know her too well. Her gaze isn’t totally fixed on the phone she’s pretending to scroll through; our eyes catch once through the glass.

My chest knots. She isn’t panicking. She isn’t surprised. She’s watching.

I stumble a little, my shoulder bumping Alec’s arm. He steadies me without comment, steering me into the hall. But my eyes stay locked on that window until the corridor walls cut the view off.

I want to stop. To turn back. To demand why Lydia was there, why she always seems to be a shadow when I least expect it. But the words are locked behind my teeth, caged by everything I don’t understand.

By the time Alec leads me into the staff lounge, my legs are shaking. The smell of coffee grounds and antiseptic hits my nose, sharp and grounding, but my chest is still tight.

Alec closes the door behind us.

“Mara,” he says.

And for the first time since Caleb slammed through the clinic doors, I realize I’m trembling so hard my teeth nearly knock together.

Alec doesn’t crowd me. He gives just enough space that I don’t feel cornered, but not enough that I forget he’s there.

My chest won’t steady. Every inhale feels too thin, every exhale like it catches in my throat.

Alec watches, eyes measured but sharp. “You did the right thing.”

I almost laugh, but it comes out cracked. “It doesn’t feel like it.”