Page 29 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

The moment the call ends, I just sit there.

The tea’s gone cold again. That makes twice in a single morning. But I don’t get up to pour another. The kitchen feels too quiet, like it’s holding its breath for something it doesn’t want to name.

I stare at the closed comm panel. The blue indicator light still pulses once every thirty seconds, like a heartbeat that refuses to fade.

My reflection on the surface is faint, stretched thin by the angle, but I can still make out the lines in my face.

The ones I didn’t used to have. The ones Elias traces sometimes when he thinks I’m asleep.

It’s not just Caleb.

Something else is moving under this. A shadow under the surface of the water. I can’t see it yet, but I feel the current shifting around it.

Enough waiting.

I head to my room—not Elias’s bedroom, not the cold perimeter of the house. Just the space he gave me without asking. I need to breathe. And I can’t do it with these walls closing in.

I slip into a loose gray hoodie, the soft one that still smells like coffee and Elias’s skin.

I lace up my shoes, grab my knife from the drawer, and shove it in the side pocket of my bag.

Pepper spray goes in next. Small first aid kit, a flash drive, a burner ID I never told Elias I kept. And my keycard.

I don't tell myself where I’m going, because I don’t know yet.

Maybe the beach.

Maybe the clinic.

Maybe even back to my apartment for a change of air.

I just know I need to move. Get my body out of this house before it turns into a cage.

I grab my sunglasses off the counter, sling the bag over my shoulder, and walk out the front door before I can second-guess it.

The sun is sharp. The wind tastes like salt. And for the first time in days, I let the silence belong to something other than fear.

Early sun glints off the tide, and the sea is still quiet, not yet disturbed by the tourists or the weekend runners.

I step off the path and let my shoes sink into the edge of the wet sand. Not too close to the waves. Just enough to feel the cold seeping through the soles. The wind whips my hair loose, and I let it. For once, I don’t smooth it back.

There’s a calm that lives here—one that doesn’t owe itself to anyone. The sea doesn’t care who’s watching. It doesn’t bend for men like Caleb or ghosts from Elias's past. It just breathes. Endless.

I keep walking. Not fast. Just steady. A straight line along the shore until the ache in my chest starts to loosen.

A gull cries out overhead. My fingers curl into the strap of my bag. And still, I keep walking.

By the time I loop back toward the road, my legs are sore, and my throat’s dry from salt and wind. There’s a food truck parked near the lot. I almost don’t stop.

But I do.

Coffee. Black. No room. No sweetness.

The guy behind the window gives me a look like he wants to ask if I’m okay. I give him a look back that tells him not to.

I take the cup and head to a low bench that faces the ocean.

Then I pull out my phone.

No messages.

Nothing from Elias.

I could text him. Could say I needed a walk. Could ask if he’s still okay.

But I don’t.

If he’s in the middle of something, I’ll only make it worse by poking the thread.

Instead, I open my contacts. Scroll until I hit my own name. One of the dummy IDs. I update the location sync. Just enough to look like I’m home. Just in case someone’s watching.

Then I down the rest of the coffee and head for the road.

I’m not going back to the house yet.

Not until I feel like it’s mine again.

Maybe the clinic.

Maybe...the apartment.

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag.

I turn left.

I’m going home. My apartment.

Just for a little while.

The cab drops me two corners away from my building. I didn’t want to be seen arriving directly. Old instinct.

The street leading to my building is quiet. Not dead, but muted. The kind of quiet that presses against the skin instead of easing it.

The second I turn the corner onto my block, I feel it.

A shift in the air.

Not wind. Not the weather.

Presence.

My grip on my bag tightens. My thumb finds the clip of the pepper spray. My other hand hovers near the knife, inside the canvas.

I take two more steps.

And then I hear him.

"Been wondering when you’d come back to this place."

My breath stills.

Caleb.

He’s leaning against the far wall of the building like he’s got a right to be here. Like the city isn’t a stranger to him, even though he never lived here. Black coat, boots scuffed, eyes darker than they were the last time I saw them—too dark for morning.

I don’t move.

He steps forward slowly, hands up like I’m some fragile creature he has to coax. “Not here to hurt you, Mara.”

“You already did,” I say.

“That wasn’t the question.”

I slide my foot back an inch. “Say what you came to say and get the fuck out of my way.”

He tilts his head. “Still got that fire.”

I flick the safety off the pepper spray. “Still got this too.”

His smile is humorless. “Cute. But if I meant you harm, you’d know it already.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to know why I came back. Why now.”

I don’t say anything.

Caleb watches me, jaw tight. “You think I followed you across years and borders because I missed you?”

“Did you?”

“No. I followed the body count. I followed the pattern. And it led me to the man who’s got his hands all over you now.”

My spine locks.

“Elias has enemies,” Caleb continues. “But some of them weren’t his. Not until you. You ever ask yourself why they’re circling now?”

I swallow hard. “What are you talking about?”

“You were mine once. You don’t get to rewrite that just because he fits your scars better.”

My hand tightens around the blade. I don’t draw it. Not yet.

“You’re drawing heat, Mara,” he says, voice soft now. “And not all of it is from me.”

“You’re warning me?”

“I’m telling you. If something happens to you, he won’t survive it. And you? You’ve always been the detonator, not the fuse.”

Before I can respond, a shadow separates from the alley to my left.

A woman steps out. Tall. Sharp-featured. Cool brown skin, dark braid coiled down her back. Dressed in black like the dusk built her. A gun holstered at her side, but her hands are empty.

“Caleb Rusk,” she says. Calm. Crisp.

He turns, and for the first time, he looks unsure.

The woman’s voice is measured steel. “You’ve had your five minutes. That’s generous. Now step the fuck back.”

“Who the hell are you?” Caleb asks.

She doesn’t blink. “I’m Lydia.”

His jaw works. “Elias sent you?”

“No.” Her tone sharpens. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

I glance at her. “Then why are you?”

Her gaze never leaves Caleb. “Because your ghost keeps stepping where he shouldn’t.” She walks toward him slowly. “You show your face again within two blocks of this woman, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do with it.”

Caleb doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

Lydia stops just in front of him. They’re nearly eye to eye.

“Walk away,” she says.

And he does.

No threats. No glances back.

Just vanishes into the alley the same way he came.

I don’t breathe until he’s gone.

Lydia turns to me finally. “You all right?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

She shrugs. “You handled him. I just closed the door.”

Then she smiles faintly.

“Elias isn’t the only one watching, you know.”

The silence after Caleb leaves doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like delay. Like a hallway that leads somewhere darker.

Lydia stands with her arms crossed, eyes scanning the mouth of the alley, her shoulders coiled like she never learned how to relax. She doesn’t ask me if I want to go inside. She just waits.

“Was that really why he came back?” I ask finally. “Because of Elias?”

“I think it started with you,” she says. “But it always ends with Elias. That’s the problem.”

I look at her. “How long have you known him?”

Lydia huffs. “Long enough to know when he’s in trouble. And when he’s trying to pretend he’s not.”

Her voice isn’t unkind. Just dry. Tired in a way that makes sense now.

“You trust him,” I say.

She lifts a brow. “I don’t trust anyone. But I believe in what he’s trying to protect. And right now, that’s you.”

That sinks in slowly.

“Why did you follow me?” I ask.

She doesn’t flinch. “Because you left without saying anything. Because Elias told me to keep an eye on you for him. Because his systems pinged an unlogged route. Because I’ve been doing this long enough to know when a woman walks away from safety with a knife in her bag and doesn’t tell anyone, it’s not for coffee. ”

I nod. “You’re right.”

She smiles faintly. “I usually am. Annoying habit.” We stand there in the alley’s breath for another moment. Then she gestures with her chin. “Come on. I’ve got a car two blocks down.”

I don’t argue.

We move together, side by side, not speaking. The wind has picked up again, biting at the edges of my sleeves. But I don’t mind it now.

Lydia doesn’t walk like she’s guarding me. She walks like she’s giving me space to feel my own weight again. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

When we reach the car, she opens the passenger door for me without a word. I climb in.

The silence in the vehicle is easy, clean. I stare out the window as the city slips past, less familiar than it should be.

By the time the house comes into view, the sun has started its slow descent.

I finally speak. “I don’t think this is over.”

She nods once. “It never is.”

The house swallows us whole. Lydia leaves with that same soundless precision she arrived with, vanishing like she was never really here. I don’t ask if she’ll tell Elias. I don’t ask if he knows already.

I don’t want to know the answer either.

I peel off my jacket the moment I step into the kitchen and toss it over the chair. The silence here is different than the beach or even my apartment. It’s clinical. Claustrophobic. Like every object is listening. Like the walls have already started to shift their weight, preparing to lean in.

I put on water for tea.

Because I need the ritual.

Because I need something normal.

My hands are steady. That surprises me. My reflection in the dark window above the sink doesn’t look wrecked, just pale. Focused. I stare at myself until the kettle clicks off.

Tea. One sugar. No milk.

I take the mug and move through the house with slow steps, drawn back to the guest room—my room. The sheets are still made. The faint scent of cedar and detergent lingers in the fabric. I set the mug down and sink into the edge of the bed.

My fingers pull open the top drawer without meaning to. Inside is the burner. Still dormant. Still off.

I take it out and set it on the bed beside me. Just looking at it makes my skin prickle. I sit down slowly, careful not to disturb the silence, like noise might trigger something I’m not ready for.

I pull the blanket across my lap. Curl my legs under me, then I turn the burner on. My fingers drum once, then stop. I don’t know why I turn it on—only that not knowing what happens after an action feels worse than the risk of finding out.

The screen flares to life.

Blank. Quiet.

I exhale, just a little. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe it’s just a shell, nothing left in it.

I lean back against the headboard, try to breathe like I’m not counting seconds.

Then the burner buzzes.

A single, sharp vibration that jumps into my spine.

I sit up straight. The screen lights again.

A message.

UNKNOWN: “It’s not Elias I’m here for. But he’s in the way.”

I don’t know if it’s Caleb.

But I know the cadence.

I grip the edge of the bed with white knuckles. My other hand slides toward the knife in my bag.

No one knocks at the door.

But I feel the weight of being watched again.

And I know this is just the beginning.

Just a new breach in the pattern.

I stare at the message until it vanishes on its own.

Then I kill the screen and sit there, waiting for something to make sense again.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been sitting there until the mug’s gone cold again in my hand. The tea tastes bitter now—over-steeped and stale. I don’t finish it. Just set it on the table beside the bed and press my fingers to my temples.

My head aches.

I hear the quiet chime of the perimeter lock rearming itself. A detail I didn’t notice until now. Lydia must’ve reset the system when she dropped me off. She’s good. Too good. Which makes me wonder again how long she’s been tracking me, and how much Elias really told her.

I pick up my phone. My real one this time.

Still no word from him.

I stare at the thread for a long time. Then, finally, I type:

I’m back. Safe.

I hit send. Then add:

We need to talk when you return.

The message is delivered, but no read receipt appears. I shouldn’t expect one. He’s in the field. Or in a room without signals. Or neck-deep in ghosts with knives instead of names.

I toss the phone beside the burner. They look wrong sitting next to each other—one too polished, the other too wrong to belong in this world. Like twin hearts beating in different languages.

I lie back.

There’s too much converging now. Elias’s past. Mine. Caleb’s presence. The fact that someone’s watching the watchers. And this message—this new player—whoever thinks Elias is just an obstacle to something bigger.

I don’t know who they are.

But I know they’re wrong.

Because Elias isn’t just in the way.

He is the wall.

And if they want what’s behind it—what he protects—they’re going to have to tear him apart to get it.

I don’t know if I’m more afraid of that happening...

Or what I’ll become if it does.