Page 24 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

There’s a certain silence that comes after ruin. Not peace. Not relief. Just silence. Like the walls are holding their breath.

Mara is asleep, her legs tangled with mine, her skin still warm from where I touched her last. There’s a mark on her wrist from where I held her down. Faint. Fitting. A little crooked like the rest of us.

She’s asleep. I should be too.

But I’m not.

Because nothing in me feels still.

The room is warm with the weight of what we just did, the windows fogged, the air thick with sweat and aftermath. I brush my fingers along her hip, slow and steady, like my touch can keep her tethered to now instead of whatever shadows she wakes up with.

She murmurs something in her sleep and shifts slightly, pressing her cheek closer to my shoulder. Her leg stays hooked over mine. Possessive. Unconscious. Beautiful.

And for a second, I let myself just feel it.

I lie still for a moment, letting her weight anchor me.

But my mind’s already moving. Mapping threats.

Rewinding everything we missed while we were buried inside each other.

The job Lydia flagged. The surveillance drop I haven’t checked.

The pulse in my gut that tells me something is shifting outside this room.

I ease out from under her, careful not to wake her. She stirs once, murmurs something, but doesn’t wake. I pull the blanket higher over her shoulder and press my mouth to her temple. Just a breath. Then I move.

The hallway is dim. My phone buzzes the moment I step out of range of the bedroom jammer. Lydia.

Client flagged. You’ll want to read this one before 5 a.m.

No details. Just enough urgency to make it clear it’s not optional.

I don’t go to my office.

Instead, I stop at the wall panel and activate the secured channel, pulling the new file directly onto the terminal mounted in the hallway.

The screen lights up with data—encrypted strings, metadata logs, images stitched from various surveillance feeds.

The client request is clean. Precise. The contract language is cold, surgical. Just how I like it.

But the subject....

My pulse slows.

It’s not Caleb. It’s not even Mara’s world. This is my world. The one I built before her.

The name flashes again.

Anton Vale.

Ex-syndicate. Mid-tier arms trafficker. Disappeared three years ago after an internal betrayal that left two field assets dead. My assets. Men I vetted myself.

This contract isn’t justice.

It’s revenge.

And Lydia knew it.

I let the screen blink once before I shut it off. No need to read more. I already know I’ll take it. Just not tonight.

Behind me, the house is quiet again. But the air doesn’t feel settled. Not anymore. Mara shifted something in me. Softened me just enough to remember what it feels like to crave more than survival.

I head back to her.

I stop in the doorway.

She is sitting up now, awake, blanket bunched around her waist, hair wild, eyes still soft from sleep but alert.

“You left,” she says quietly, not accusing, just observing.

I nod. “Didn’t go far.”

“Could feel it.”

I walk back in, sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re still getting used to being safe.”

She studies me. “You don’t look safe either.”

I laugh once. Dry. “I’m not.”

“Someone from your team?”

“Yeah. Lydia, I'm not sure I've told you about her.”

“Work?”

I nod. “Someone from before. Not connected to Caleb.”

She doesn’t relax. Not really. Just shifts the tension to a different part of her body.

I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to worry about this one.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

She leans into my palm like it’s instinct. Like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

“What time is it?” she asks.

“Almost four.”

Her eyes flick to the window. Still dark. Still too early to be anything but haunted.

“I won’t be able to sleep now,” she says.

“Then don’t.”

I pull the blanket back and slide in beside her. She doesn’t resist. Her body molds into mine, back to chest, the way it always fits too perfectly. My arm wraps around her middle. I feel her breath stutter just once before it evens out.

“You always hold this tight?” she asks.

“Only when I’m scared if you’ll vanish.”

Her fingers curl over my wrist.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

No promises beyond that. Just tonight.

But for now, it’s enough.

Mara falls asleep again eventually. I know the second it happens—the rhythm of her breath steadies, deepens. But I don’t let go.

I lie there in the dark, eyes open, mapping the ceiling like it’s terrain I need to memorize. Not because I’m afraid. Because I know this quiet won’t last.

Anton Vale.

Even the name tastes bitter.

He vanished after that last op. And the message I got afterward was never meant for public record. “You trained them too well,” it said. “They died fast.”

That’s not something you forget.

The file didn’t say much—only that someone has eyes on him again. Tracked. Verified. But there’s a line buried in the metadata that wasn’t meant for me. A timing signature that matches a safehouse I helped design years ago. A failsafe protocol I thought I buried.

If Vale’s using my work to disappear, that’s personal.

And I want it undone.

My fingers curl tighter around Mara’s waist. She shifts in her sleep, pressing her back to my chest. Even unconscious, she moves toward heat.

I wonder what she’d say if she knew what I’m planning.

Not because I’d keep it from her. But because there’s a part of her that still believes I can come out clean on the other side of this. That there’s some version of justice that doesn’t leave a body in its wake.

She’s wrong.

But I like that she wants to be wrong for me.

When the first thread of light breaks along the horizon, I slide out of bed and dress in silence. She doesn’t stir.

In the hall, I tap a sequence into the wall panel and retrieve the rest of the file from the hidden queue. I’ll need Lydia in on this. And maybe one other.

But I won’t risk Mara.

Not this time.

I reach for my comms unit and link into the secure channel. Lydia’s already up, of course. Her voice cuts through the static with precision.

“You read the whole file?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.”

“You were.”

She sighs. “Fine. I was. The second I saw the name.”

“Who flagged him?”

“An informant out of Athens. Recognized the walk, out of all things. Confirmed later by a biometric signature pulled from a public terminal in Marseille.”

“He’s getting sloppy.”

“Or he wants to be found.”

That sticks.

“You think it’s bait?” I ask.

“I think he knows your name’s still on the file.”

I nod once, even though she can’t see it. “Pull what we have from Marseille. Traffic patterns, camera loops, anything that moved within twenty meters of the terminal in the hour before and after.”

“And the asset?”

“I’ll handle it. Personally.”

There’s a pause.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’m not letting him use my old tech to vanish again. I know how he thinks.”

“Which is exactly why this might be personal.”

“It is.”

Lydia doesn’t argue.

“Fine. I’ll keep the grid open. Call if anything shifts.”

I click off and breathe in through my nose.

Anton Vale is alive.

And if he’s using my work to ghost through the world again, I’m going to make damn sure he regrets ever crawling back into the light.

Behind me, the bedroom door clicks open softly. Mara appears in the doorway, one of my hoodies thrown over her frame, her sleep-creased shirt beneath. Barefoot. Eyes unreadable.

“You’re going out?” she asks.

“Not yet.”

She steps into the hallway. “Was that Lydia again?”

“Yeah.”

“You look like you’re already leaning toward something.”

“I have.”

She crosses her arms. “Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to pretend again that this part of your life doesn’t exist?”

My mouth tightens.

“I’m not hiding it from you.”

“Then say it.”

“His name is Anton Vale. He’s someone I lost years ago. And now I have a chance to find him.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “And kill him?”

“If necessary.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t argue. She just nods slowly.

“I don’t want to be the reason you hold back,” she says. “But I also don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

I step closer, frame her face in my hands.

“You won’t be.”

But we both know the truth lives somewhere between us.

We’re standing in the hallway, half lit by the dull bleed of dawn, our words still soft in the air. She’s quiet, but her eyes speak louder than her mouth ever does. I feel it in my chest—the way she wants to say more, the war between trust and fear.

She leans forward first.

Not into my mouth. Into my throat. Her forehead rests there, a quiet pressure. Not a plea. Just…being.

“I don’t want you to come back emptier,” she whispers.

I lower my hand to her spine, feeling the slight tremor in her body.

“I don’t know any other way to come back,” I say.

“Then teach me,” she replies. “So I can hold the weight too.”

It guts me.

She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “Will you at least come to bed? One more hour?”

I nod. And it feels like surrender.

Back in the room, we lie down again—clothed now, but not covered. Her hand finds mine beneath the sheets, fingers laced tight, like she’s anchoring me to the present. To her.

We don’t speak.

We don’t need to.

Her thumb moves slowly across the edge of my palm.

A silent promise.

And for now, that’s enough to stay.

At some point, sleep claim her again, and I don't know when I fell asleep too, I wake to the feeling of her fingers against my ribs, tracing shapes that don’t exist. Her breath is even. Her eyes are open.

“You slept,” I murmur.

“A little,” she says.

I shift to look at her. Her face is close. Open in a way that’s not fragile, just honest.

She lets the silence stretch. Then says, “You’re already thinking about how to leave again.”

I don’t deny it.

“I just want to be ready,” I say.

“I know.”

She doesn’t argue with it. Doesn’t ask me to stay.

Instead, she presses her palm flat over my heart.

“Just...come back with this still beating,” she whispers.

I cover her hand with mine.

“That’s the plan.”

She nods, and this time, the quiet is softer.

When I finally leave the bed, the light outside is full. She watches me gather what I need without a word. Weapons. Tech. Restraint.

Before I step out, she stops me with a question I don’t expect.

“Will you let me know when it’s done?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it’s ugly?”

“Especially then.”

She doesn’t move, but her eyes follow me until the door closes.

And for the first time in a long time, I walk into the day feeling like something’s still mine.

Even if I have to bleed to keep it.

I head out through the side entrance, away from the glass windows, and toward the car parked in the covered drive. The vehicle hums awake beneath my hands, a low growl of readiness. The streets are quiet—too early for traffic, too late for drunks.

I make two full turns around the block, watching mirrors, checking shadows. When I’m certain the route is clean, I open my encrypted line to Lydia.

“Go ahead,” she answers instantly.

“Keep your eyes on the house. Full sweep every three hours. No civilian tails, no close-range alerts unless necessary. You’ll be invisible, but constant.”

“Copy. Threat level still Caleb?”

“Yes. And I need the freedom to focus where I’m going. I can’t do that if I’m worried about her.”

“I’ve got her. Nothing’s touching that house unless I say so.”

“Good…and when she steps out, you know what to do too.”

I end the call and pull into the main road. The city yawns open ahead of me. I keep my grip steady on the wheel, my mind shifting into the space it always finds before the work begins.

And behind it all, still echoing, her voice from this morning.

Just...come back with this still beating.