Page 17 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

I can still feel Elias on my skin.

It’s in the way my cardigan clings, in the way the bruised spot at the base of my neck hums beneath the fabric. Celeste had glanced at it. Not long enough to ask. Just enough to notice. I’d turned away before she could decide whether to speak.

Now, I’m in my office. The door shut. Light low. I haven’t turned on the overheads yet, and maybe that’s the first clue.

Something’s off.

Not wrong. Just...sideways.

I stand by the window longer than I should. The desk lamp casts a warm cone over my papers, my calendar, a ceramic cup full of pens I never use. It all looks normal. Familiar. Predictable.

But it feels staged.

Like someone reset the room from memory. Almost right. Not quite.

My office smells faintly different, too. Not like cleaning products or flowers. Something sharper. Something close to cologne, but fainter, older. Something I don’t wear.

I walk around the desk and sink into the chair. Let my fingers move across the surface like I’m blind and trying to learn it all over again.

That’s when I see it.

A slip of white paper. Crisp. Folded. Tucked just under the edge of my keyboard. Like it’s been waiting. Like someone knew I’d sit exactly here, at exactly this time.

I stare at it.

Then I reach for it.

Unfold. One line, written in careful block letters:

HE WON’T ALWAYS BE THERE, WATCHING.

I read it again. And again. The paper doesn’t shake in my hands, but my heart does.

I check the back of the slip. Blank.

Then I move.

Not frantic. Not yet. But there’s a precision in my motion, like I’m in the middle of something delicate and deadly.

I get up and lock the door.

My hand lingers on the knob. That old reflex—the one from when I used to live in places where the lock was more suggestion than security—kicks in. I check it twice.

Then I sit back down.

And for a few long seconds, I just breathe.

In.

Out.

I want to call Elias.

I don’t.

Because I’m not sure if this note is a warning or bait.

I trace my morning like I’m building an alibi. Coffee. Celeste. Front desk. Hallway. This room. The door was closed when I got in. Not locked. Nothing was obviously touched.

Except for that paper.

Who has keys to the clinic?

Alec. Celeste. Security. Maintenance.

I could ask Celeste.

But how? How do I ask the person who looked at the bruise on my neck like it had a voice?

I open the door and step into the hall. It smells sterile again. The clinic is louder now—phones ringing, someone wheeling a supply cart, a patient raising their voice about an appointment.

I spot her near the file cabinets. Alone.

“Celeste,” I say.

She turns. Her face softens. “Hey. Everything okay?”

I nod. Too quickly.

“Did you notice anyone go into my office while I was away?”

Her brow furrows. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“I thought I smelled something different in there. Like...cologne. Not mine.”

She tilts her head. “You sure it wasn’t something from outside? A patient, maybe?”

“It wasn’t that kind of smell.”

Now she’s alert. “You think someone’s been in your office?”

“I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ll check with security,” she says.

“Thanks.”

I turn away before I say too much.

I can still feel the note in my pocket.

It might as well be a knife.

I return to my office with the note still in my pocket and a pit blooming under my sternum.

The door clicks shut behind me.

This time, I leave it unlocked.

Because locked doors don’t mean shit when the threat is already inside.

I pull open every drawer. One by one. They’re in perfect order. My backup hard drive is still in place.

I check my calendar. Nothing changed.

I check my trash can. Empty, like someone was too careful.

I sit back down and stare at the screen. No messages. No strange logins. No alerts from our internal system.

So why can’t I shake it?

The feeling of something shifting beneath me.

Like a foundation that waits until you're halfway across the bridge before cracking.

I think of Caleb.

How he used to test my perception—gaslighting wrapped in romance. He’d shift small things. My toothbrush moved. A different ringtone. A voicemail deleted. He’d swear I imagined it, and after a while, I believed him.

Until I didn’t.

Until I learned to write things down. To timestamp my life.

But even now, I can’t prove this note wasn’t always here. Maybe I missed it. Maybe I’m spiraling.

Or maybe someone is pulling on those old threads just tight enough to see if I’ll fray.

I grab a sticky note from my drawer and write the time. 10:37 a.m.

I place it beside the paper.

I want proof that I’m not losing it.

But the worst part is—if this is Caleb…then he knows I’ll be too afraid to scream.

I unlock my phone. Open the thread with Elias. It’s empty.

I type: Someone left a note in my office.

Delete.

Try again: Did you see anything unusual this morning?

Delete.

Final attempt: Do you have eyes on the clinic right now?

I hover my thumb over send—

A knock at the door startles me.

My phone slides from my hand onto the desk. Screen goes black.

“Mara?”

It’s Alec.

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“Got a second?”

“Sure.”

He opens the door without waiting for a real invitation.

He’s too calm. Casual in a way that doesn’t fit the moment. Slacks, open collar, coffee in hand like we’re about to talk about someone’s overtime hours.

“You okay?” he asks, shutting the door behind him.

I nod. “Just settling in.”

He steps closer. Too close.

“You’ve been...hard to pin down lately.”

I shrug. “Had to take some time. Still doing my job.”

“Not saying you aren’t.”

“But you’re here anyway.”

He lifts his hand in mock surrender. “Checking in. No agenda.”

Except everything about his body says agenda .

His eyes sweep the desk. Land on the sticky note. Pause. Just for a second too long.

Then he looks at me again. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure.”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it.

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he leaves.

And I finally breathe.

The second the door closes, I grab my phone off the desk.

I don’t overthink it this time.

I reopen the message thread with Elias. Type:

I need you to see something.

I take a photo of the note, frame the sticky beside it, and I hit send.

Three seconds.

Four.

Reply: Don’t leave the room.

That’s it. No question. No explanation.

Another message follows: Is your office camera working?

I freeze.

Look up.

The camera in the corner—a leftover from an old security install, never removed, always off—has a small red light blinking. I haven’t seen that light in over a year.

I write: It wasn’t on before.

Elias: It is now.

The air thickens. I look at the door like it might open on its own. I don’t know what I want more—Elias to appear or for no one else to walk in at all.

Another text buzzes.

I’m five minutes out.

My heart stutters. Then settles into something harder.

Because if Elias is coming, it means he saw more than the note.

It means this just became real.

I sit still, like movement might trigger something I can’t see.

Every small sound becomes loaded—the creak in the hallway, the shift of air through the vent, the murmur of voices outside the clinic door. I check the note again. The pen pressure. The way the folds were made—creased like it was meant to slide easily into a pocket.

Three minutes pass.

Four.

Then a knock—three short raps.

I rise and open the door. It’s Elias.

His face is thunder.

No words. He steps inside, closes the door behind him, and immediately starts scanning the room. His eyes sweep the floor, the corners, the walls. The camera light above still blinks.

“Was anything moved?” he asks.

“No. Nothing obvious.”

He walks to the desk. Eyes the note. Picks it up using the corner of a tissue.

“Where exactly was it?”

“Under the keyboard. Folded like that.”

He nods once. Pulls something from his coat—a small black light pen—and clicks it on. He checks the desk surface, the keyboard edges.

“Prints?” I ask.

“Maybe. Or oil marks. Anything.”

The air between us is taut.

“You think Caleb sent someone?”

Elias looks at me. “Yes.”

I swallow. “Do you know who?”

He hesitates. Then says, “I have a name.”

“Tell me.”

“Lyle Vance.”

I blink.

I know that name.

He worked one floor down from Caleb at the non-profit. Smiled too much. Always remembered my coffee order. I thought he was harmless.

Apparently not.

“You’re sure?” I ask.

Elias nods. “The ink, the message style, the watch on his wrist in the footage—everything tracks.”

I sit.

“You think he’s in the building?”

“No. But he was nearby.” Elias crouches in front of me. “I need you to listen now. You don’t open your door unless it’s me. You don’t step out unless I say. I don’t care if it’s Celeste or Alec or the fucking fire chief.”

My voice is quiet. “And if someone calls me out?”

His voice drops. “You don’t answer.”

The room feels like it’s shrinking.

But I nod.

Because this time, the fear isn’t irrational.

It’s earned.

And it’s close.

Elias leaves as quietly as he came. Swift. Silent. I listen until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore.

I barely have a moment to recalibrate when there’s another knock. This one lighter. Brighter.

“Mara?”

It’s Celeste.

“Yeah,” I call out, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

She pushes the door open and pokes her head in like she’s about to explode from curiosity. “Hey, don’t freak, but a guy came by earlier asking for you.”

My stomach knots. “When?”

“Maybe five or ten minutes ago? Super handsome. Tall. Dark eyes. Gave major ‘I kill people for fun’ energy, but in a hot way.”

I raise an eyebrow, deadpan. “You mean the guy who literally just left my office?”

Celeste laughs, caught. “Okay, yeah, but I didn’t know who he was. He came in like a damn shadow, no smile, didn’t say a word to anyone but security. Just walked straight past the desk and up to your door.”

“So you saw him come in.”

“I saw him come out . And I mean, look at your face. You looked like someone pressed a wire against your spine.”

I don’t say anything.

Celeste smirks, stepping into the room fully. “He’s hot, Mara. But also—very, very scary hot. Who is he?”

I hesitate, then offer, “Someone I trust.”

She eyes me. “That’s it?”

“That’s enough.”

Celeste crosses her arms. “Look, I don’t need the details. But I know how to read a room. And your room smells like heat and secrets.”

I huff a laugh despite myself.

She softens. “Just...be careful, okay?”

I nod. “I am.”

“Okay.”

She pauses, glances at the desk, then at me. “He looked like he’d burn down a city for you.”

I meet her eyes.

“I know.”

By the time Celeste leaves, the room feels like a held breath.

I check my phone again. Nothing new. Elias is out there somewhere, watching. Probably already rerouting footage, scrubbing data, retracing Lyle Vance’s scent through the city.

I don’t know if that makes me feel safer or more hunted.

There’s a knock at the door again. This one soft. A different rhythm.

I open it.

Alec.

He’s leaning on the frame like he owns it. Like the earlier tension never happened.

“Hey,” he says, smooth. “Didn’t mean to bug you again, just wanted to catch you before lunch.”

I step aside. “Something up?”

“Actually, yeah. We’re having a team dinner tonight. Nothing fancy—just Thai food, a round of beers, low-pressure hang. I thought it might be good for morale.”

I stare at him.

He notices. “You don’t have to say yes. Just...it’d be nice to have you there.”

My gut twists. Something about this timing feels off.

“Who’s going?” I ask.

“Celeste, me, two of the admin girls, maybe Josh from psych. Casual thing. You don’t have to dress up.”

I nod slowly. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

He smiles and steps back. “Cool. Let me know by four?”

I close the door.

I don’t text Elias.

Not yet.

But I can already feel how his body will change the second I tell him.

He won’t like it.

And the problem is—I’m not sure if that will stop me from going, or push me straight toward it.