Page 14 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)
Chapter Eight
The Dynamis complex transformed before Sabrina’s eyes, morphing from the sleek glass tower that dominated the Dallas skyline into what she could only describe as a military-grade fortress.
Steel barriers slid silently into place across floor-to-ceiling windows.
Security teams materialized at control points throughout the building, armed with weapons that definitely weren’t standard issue for private security.
Sabrina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, acutely aware of the rumpled state of her silk blouse. The elegant outfit she’d worn to meet Cho felt like it belonged to another woman in another lifetime.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced down to see Richard Maitland’s name on the screen.
Administration approved your emergency leave without question , the chief of surgery had written.
I’ve personally reassigned your surgeries and trauma rotation.
Dr. Liu will cover your most critical patients.
Take whatever time you need with your mother—the hospital will still be standing when you return.
A postscript followed: And Sabrina? This is the first time in five years you’ve requested more than a weekend off. Nobody’s questioning the necessity. Focus on family right now.
She felt a pang of guilt at the deception, but Richard’s genuine concern only reinforced why she’d become a doctor in the first place.
If stopping Mitchell meant saving countless lives, the temporary lie was worth it.
She sent back a quick thank you, adding that her mother’s condition was “stable but requiring attention,” maintaining the cover story while giving herself flexibility.
It was strange how quickly her carefully constructed life at Dallas Memorial had receded into the background.
Just days ago, her surgical rotation and research had consumed every waking moment.
Now they felt like someone else’s responsibilities—important, but disconnected from the urgent reality of Mitchell’s bioweapon and the growing danger surrounding her.
“Welcome to lockdown protocol,” Jade said as she led Sabrina through a series of biometric checkpoints.
Her normally laconic demeanor had shifted to hyper-vigilance, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
Dressed in black BDUs, a fitted black shirt and combat boots that made no sound on the polished floors, she moved with lethal grace, absently touching the knife strapped to her thigh—a habit Sabrina had noticed each time they entered a new space.
“We occupy the top eight floors, with three additional sublevels beneath the parking garage,” Jade continued, pausing to remove the elastic from her wrist and gather her dark hair into a tight ponytail. “Once we’re sealed, this place could withstand a coordinated military assault.”
“Or a corrupt senator with government resources,” Sabrina replied, struggling to process the rapid shift in her reality.
She twisted the small silver ring on her right hand—a nervous habit she’d developed during medical school and never quite abandoned.
Twelve hours ago, she’d been Dr. Wells, respected trauma surgeon.
Now she was a target with a price on her head.
The elevator required Jade’s handprint, retinal scan, and voice authorization before descending to sublevel two. When the doors opened, Sabrina stepped into a world she’d never imagined existed beneath the polished corporate veneer of Dynamis Security.
The command center spread before them—a cavernous space dominated by a central platform ringed with workstations.
Massive screens covered the walls, displaying satellite images, security feeds, and data streams that Sabrina couldn’t begin to interpret.
The August heat that had scorched Dallas aboveground was nonexistent here, replaced by the steady chill of climate-controlled precision that raised goose bumps on her arms.
Cal hunched over his workstation, brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers flew across three separate keyboards.
Across the platform, two men Sabrina hadn’t met before worked with identical intensity.
One—tall and lean with close-cropped silver hair despite his relative youth—was directing a team via multiple comm channels, his British accent clipped and authoritative.
The other—darker, with the weathered complexion of someone who’d spent years in harsh climates—manipulated what appeared to be a three-dimensional rendering of Mitchell’s estate, his long fingers moving with the grace of a concert pianist.
Eden and Nate stood examining a tactical map of Dallas, their movements synchronized with the easy familiarity of a couple who’d spent nearly eight years navigating danger together.
Eden had changed into tactical gear—black cargo pants and a fitted tank top that revealed the upper edge of a puckered scar tissue on her chest. The ragged, circular mark was unmistakably a bullet wound, and Sabrina’s medical training instantly recognized the professional skill that had saved her life.
Sabrina found herself staring, unable to imagine surviving such trauma. Eden caught her gaze and held it, neither embarrassed nor defiant about the scar—simply acknowledging its existence as a fact of her history.
Max coordinated with agents on video feeds in multiple languages, his massive frame somehow appearing larger in the blue-tinged light of the monitors.
Unlike the others who carried tension in their shoulders or hands, Max’s anxiety manifested in his constant movement—shifting from foot to foot, rolling his massive shoulders, cracking his neck at regular intervals.
And at the center of it all, Atticus.
He stood with his back to her, issuing directives in the clipped, authoritative tone of someone who expected immediate compliance.
His jacket was gone, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle.
The Rolex on his left wrist caught the light as he gestured toward a security feed, and Sabrina noticed the small, almost imperceptible tremor in his right hand—a microsecond of vulnerability before his fingers curled into a fist, steadying themselves through sheer force of will.
Despite everything, Sabrina found her gaze lingering on the strong line of his shoulders, the memory of his body against hers still electric beneath her skin.
“Anna’s detail confirms secure perimeter,” he was saying into his headset, rubbing absently at the scar along his jawline—a tell she’d noticed whenever his daughter was mentioned. “I want hourly check-ins and real-time tracking. No excuses.”
He turned, sensing her presence with that uncanny awareness he seemed to possess. Their eyes locked across the room—acknowledgment of danger, shared purpose, and beneath it all, the undeniable current that neither of them was prepared to name.
“Sabrina,” he acknowledged with a nod. His gaze traveled over her, noting the rumpled blouse, the fatigue shadowing her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.
For a moment, something softened in his expression—concern, perhaps—before the professional mask slipped back into place.
“Jade will get you settled. We’re mobilizing every resource we have. ”
“Flash drive’s encrypted,” Cal announced, breaking the moment. He reached for his energy drink. “Military-grade protocols. Not impossible, just time consuming.”
“How much time?” Atticus asked, moving toward Cal’s station. He rolled his shoulders, the only outward sign of the tension coiled inside him, and Sabrina caught herself mimicking the movement to ease her own stiffness.
“Four hours, minimum. Unless…” Cal’s hands stilled over the keyboard.
“Actually, three minutes.” He flashed a grim smile at Sabrina, revealing the small gap between his front teeth that softened his otherwise sharp features.
“Hospital systems use similar encryption protocols for patient data protection, don’t they, Doc? ”
“They do,” she confirmed, stepping forward, the familiar territory of medical systems providing momentary comfort in the surreal situation. “And Dr. Cho would know that.”
“Meaning the key might be something medically relevant.” Cal nodded, fingers already flying. “Something you’d recognize.”
Sabrina leaned over his shoulder, studying the encryption prompt. “Try BlackbirdHG1918.”
Cal’s eyebrows shot up. “Specific guess.”
“Blackbird was the project name. HG refers to hemorrhagic, and 1918 was the year of the Spanish flu pandemic—one of the deadliest in human history.”
Cal entered the code. The screen flashed green, files unlocking in rapid succession. “Smart. Very smart.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing in haphazard spikes that gave him a startled, owlish appearance.
“Dr. Wells has an impressive background,” Atticus said, and something in his tone made Sabrina glance up to find his dark eyes studying her with that disconcerting intensity. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and mentally cursed her fair complexion that had always betrayed her emotions so readily.
“Is Evangeline monitoring this?” Eden asked Cal, leaning against his workstation.
“From home,” Cal confirmed, his expression softening momentarily as he glanced at the wedding band on his left hand.
“Eight months pregnant and miserable in this August heat, but still working. She’s running parallel decryption on the file structure.
” He turned to his open laptop, where a video feed showed a woman with reddish-gold hair pulled back in a messy bun, typing furiously, her rounded belly clearly visible beneath an oversized Dynamis T-shirt.
“She should be resting,” Jade commented, the corner of her mouth twitching in a rare show of humor.