Page 133 of BounBound By Scars

My heart jackhammered in my ribs. The machines beside me spiked with erratic beeps.

Then—

Everything went soft.

I heard her voice. I think it was Kaylan.

“It’s okay. Sleep. We’ll find him.”

But I was already slipping under.

Into black.

Into nowhere.

???

“Did he take the Pentagon files too?”

Zarek’s voice made my jaw clench. The venom dripping off each word had me wishing I could roll this wheelchair right over his face.

Gun to his head. Gun to everyone’s fucking head.

It had been a week since I woke up. I could move around now—barely. The wheelchair was freeing, but I almost wished I were still stuck in that hospital bed. At least then I could pretend the world hadn’t turned against him.

Against Kabir.

“No,” Zane reluctantly admitted, his tone laced with rage.

He was pacing again, his fists tight at his sides. I knew why he was the most furious—he’d built Sentrix. It was his brainchild,his life’s work. Kabir hadn’t stolen it, not exactly. He’d cloned the architecture. Taken a version with him. But that nuance didn’t matter to Zane. To him, it was betrayal. Period.

I stared down at my hands in my lap, fingers curling over the soft blanket draped across my knees. I couldn’t meet their eyes. Not Zane’s. Not Zarek’s. They were convinced Kabir had turned. That he’d sold them out.

They were wrong. I knew it. But earlier in the week, when I’d tried to explain that—tried to say Kabir must have had no choice—Zane had shouted at me.

Zarek hadn’t needed to. His glare alone had said enough.

If it hadn’t been for Logan stepping between us, I might’ve put a bullet in Zane’s sanctimonious face.

I didn’t care anymore.

Nothing was right. Not without Kabir.

Dylan hadn’t spoken to me at all. He’d stayed by my side but hadn’t uttered a single word.

I didn’t know what he thought.

My eyes darted to him. He was staring at his empty plate, his expression blank.

Kaylan and Logan were on my side. Leora too. But even she couldn’t knock the logic back into her husband’s thick skull. Ghost had always been cold—but this?

Across the lounge table, Sebastian exhaled and leaned forward, his voice calm.

“Let’s hold off on any rash decisions. First, we comb through what we pulled from the Pentagon. Our objective hasn’t changed. We’re still blind without the Doom Switch.”

I groaned. Not from pain—though that was always there—but from his casual tone. The same tone you use to discuss whether to have coffee or tea.

Like Kabir’s betrayal was inconvenient. Not catastrophic.