Page 34

Amelia

If it had just been the video Kabir sent, maybe we could’ve handled it. Maybe we could’ve written it off as strategy. A bluff. Some calculated misdirection.

But the gift that followed—delivered right to our digital doorstep—was far worse. Coded threats. Embedded malice. And betrayal, sharpened to the bone.

We were all there. Zarek, Leora, Logan, Kaylan, Dylan, Delara, Zane and Sebastian. Every single one of us crowded into the Conference Room, staring at the screen in stunned silence. Everyone… except Ronan. He was still unconscious—struggling to live.

I didn’t blink at first. Didn’t breathe.

Because the man on the screen didn’t look like my Kabir.

His face was thinner, cheeks hollowed out, dark circles pooled beneath eyes that no longer looked familiar. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Weeks, maybe.

But it wasn’t his appearance that broke me.

It was his voice.

Calm. Cold. Controlled. Every word a razor. No tremble. No hesitation. Just a deadly sort of finality that didn’t belong to the man I loved.

The screen flickered. Then steadied.

He sat in a sterile white room, the backdrop so devoid of life it made his presence feel even colder.

Then he spoke in a detached voice.

“This is a message from the Pentagon. Relayed by Cipher on behalf of Robert Romano, United States Secretary of Defense.”

No one moved.

Zane scoffed loudly, already pacing. Zarek stood statue-still, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap. Dylan’s arms were crossed, his face unreadable. Not a blink. Not a twitch.

Sebastian looked like a man who’d lost a war before the first shot was fired.

The rest of the room swirled with confusion, pain, disbelief. This was their confirmation of Kabir’s betrayal.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“Blackthorn Security has seventy-two hours to abort all ongoing investigations, operations, and field pursuits related to Project Crazon and its derivatives,” Kabir continued. “This includes all ties to Sentrix, all parallel software systems, and any efforts to breach internal Pentagon networks.”

He didn’t blink. His tone was sterile, eerily void of emotion.

I kept watching, hoping for a flicker. A glance. Some sign that it was still him beneath the steel.

“Failure to comply will be treated as an act of cyber-aggression against the United States government and its Department of Defense. In such a scenario, we will consider retaliatory measures—including exposure of Blackthorn’s operational data, personnel files, and international violations.”

Kabir didn’t even flinch saying all of it.

Zane’s fist slammed into the table.

“To ensure cooperation, a folder has been attached. It includes photos and locations of each Blackthorn member’s next of kin, immediate family, and emergency contacts. These images are recent.”

I felt bile rise in my throat. On the monitor, a series of images began to auto-scroll—my sister Iris, Leora’s parents, Delara’s cousins. Even my parents.

Each and every one of our family members were on the screen with a target on their heads.

I couldn’t reconcile it. Couldn’t make sense of how the man who once held me like I was the center of his world… was now ready to burn ours down.

Zarek’s face didn’t change. But I saw the flicker in his eyes. That internal detonation he always kept beneath the surface.

“You may also wish to inform your development team that Sentrix v5.4 is now obsolete. Crazon’s next iteration will be ready in thirty days and will render your efforts irrelevant. We’re no longer playing catch-up.”

Zane let out a roar and kicked the side of the desk so hard the monitor wobbled.

Kabir kept going.

“You have a choice. Step aside. Or be dismantled. This will be your only warning.”

The screen started to dim—but then, a final sentence.

“I hope, for your sake, that your systems are tighter than your loyalties. We wouldn’t want another… complication.”

The video ended with a sharp digital hiss.

I stared.

My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the rustling around me. But that last line—

“Systems are tighter than your loyalties,” I whispered.

It snagged in my chest. Sharp. Deliberate.

No one else said anything.

“Zane,” I rasped. “Play that again.”

He turned, still seething. “Fuck no. That was a threat. You saw the files. You heard him.”

“No,” I said. “That line—he’s trying to tell us something.”

“He told us to back off or he’ll bury us,” Zane barked. “That’s all.”

My hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair. “He’s not rogue. He’s sending a hidden message.”

Zane stepped toward me. “He’s compromised, Amelia.”

“He’s not,” I whispered. “He’s warning us.”

Zane didn’t move.

So I did.

I wheeled forward, the room parting in stunned silence. I reached the console and rewound the video, scanning frame by frame until I found it.

Paused—then played.

“…your systems are tighter than your loyalties. We wouldn’t want another… complication.”

I looked back at them, the screen still frozen. “That’s it. That’s the message. He’s telling us we’re compromised. There’s a rat in Blackthorn.”

Zarek exhaled slowly. “I don’t think so. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. It’s just… a threat.”

I looked at him. No rage. Just heartbreak pressing behind my ribs.

“No,” I said softly. “That’s what he means. He’s saying our systems should be tighter than our loyalties . We have a rat. He’s not just threatening us. He said another complication. He’s pointing us toward at least one potential leak.”

No one said anything.

Pity. Doubt. Silence.

I let it sit.

Because I knew Kabir.

And I knew what he looked like when he was trying to scream through silence.

“ Now can I mark him fucking rogue?”

Zane’s voice cut through.

“Zane—” Sebastian began.

“No. Just… listen, okay?” Zane said. “We need to mark him rogue. Whether he is or not doesn’t matter right now. That’s what they expect us to do.”

I hated how right he was.

Even if no one believed me, we had to play the part. Look fractured. Unstable. Like Kabir had truly turned.

Because if we were compromised, the rat needed to believe the damage was done. Even if the damage was real.

Zane glanced at me, still cold. “And if she is right—that’s all the more reason. The leak needs to think we’ve cut Kabir off.”

I gave him a small, grateful look. He didn’t return it. Just stared like I was a piece of evidence he wasn’t sure how to categorize.

“I know you don’t believe me,” I said quietly. “None of you do. But—”

“It’s not that we don’t,” Logan interrupted gently. “It’s just… we can’t afford to let this throw off our entire operation.”

He stepped closer. Steady. Soft-spoken, but sure. “You said Kabir’s last line was a hidden message, right?”

I nodded.

“Then we assume we have a rat. We look for them. Quietly. But until then…” He hesitated. “Zane’s right. For all intents and purposes, Kabir’s gone rogue.”

It didn’t feel like dismissal coming from Logan. It felt like strategy. Like survival.

But the silence from the rest of the room was deafening.

No agreement. No support. Just eyes cast down or away.

Sebastian leaned forward, his tone grim. “I’ve got something… unrelated. But also not. I don’t really know how to categorize it.”

I frowned.

“Brenda Carson,” he said. “She and her two sons—twenty-three and twenty—were found murdered last night.”

I blinked. “Who the hell is that?”

“Garret Tyson’s ex-mistress,” Seb replied. “For fourteen years. The kids weren’t his.”

Beside me, Kaylan let out a sharp breath—something between a hiss and a gasp. Her whole body stiffened. I saw Logan reach over silently and take her hand. My lips twitched—almost. There was something grounding in the way they leaned on each other.

“Maybe Romlinson’s cleaning house,” Zarek said. “Tying off loose ends?”

“Could be,” Sebastian replied with a shrug. “Or we’re looking at a pattern. Serial hits, maybe. No way to know yet.”

He turned to me and Zane. “Anything new from the Pentagon files?”

I shook my head. “Nothing since the RLM discovery.”

Zane nodded. “We’ll dig deeper. I found some redacted files referencing something called Project Ruby. The title’s vague, but it’s flagged under internal control initiatives. Could be connected.”

“All right…” Sebastian leaned forward, bracing his palms on the table. “Let’s get to it.”

As the team began to disperse, Zane and I headed over to the workstations. My gaze drifted, one by one, across the tech team.

Could one of them be the leak?

It would make sense. If Kabir mentioned systems and loyalties , it wasn’t random. He was pointing me here. And if the rat had access to our core systems—Sentrix, ops tracking, comms—it had to be someone in this room.

“You’re glaring at them,” Zane muttered as he dropped into the chair beside my wheelchair.

I didn’t stop. “I’ll keep looking. Whether or not you believe me.”

He surprised me—reaching out, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “I do believe you,” he said quietly. “At least… I think I do. I’m just pissed he cloned the entire Sentrix system.”

I looked at him. “He had to go all in. If it wasn’t airtight, they would’ve known.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Watch everyone. Carefully.”

Then, without another word, he spun in his chair and addressed the room.

“Listen up,” he called, glancing at his watch. “Effective immediately, as of 07:48 today, Kabir ‘Cipher’ Gill has been terminated from Blackthorn Security.”

A wave of gasps followed.

I didn’t look away. I watched—just like he told me to.

Harshita’s brows drew together in confusion.

Spencer glanced between Zane and me, blank as a loading screen.

Zane continued, voice firm. “He’s been marked a rogue asset.”

“What?” Abigail whispered under her breath.

Cody and Maverick looked equally perplexed, eyes wide.

And then—there it was.

Spencer’s eyes flicked to Maverick. Barely a second. Then he looked away like he hadn’t.

Maverick swallowed. Hard.

“What does that mean for us?” he asked, his voice too casual.

“It means,” I said, keeping my tone even, “his access has been revoked. He’s cut off from all ops, intel, and communications. Permanently.”

They nodded. A few whispers spread, low and uncertain.

“Back to work,” Zane barked.

Chairs scraped. Fingers flew back to keyboards. The room snapped back to motion.

I leaned toward Zane and spoke low. “Spencer and Mav.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I saw it. I’ll keep an eye.”

???

The days bled into each other—blurred between coded strings and long hours of chasing shadows.

Zane and I had barely left the Command Center. Him hunched over monitors, me parked in my wheelchair and a laptop warming my thighs. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even hopeful. But it was something .

“You sleeping at all?” I asked, not looking up.

“Define sleeping,” Zane muttered.

I glanced at him. His blond hair a mess. Jaw peppered with stubble. Eyes red-rimmed behind his gold frame glasses. “That’s a no.”

He grunted. “Delara’s tripled the security layers around our families, by the way. Real-time monitoring, relocation contingencies, facial scans keyed to unknowns. It’s solid.”

I nodded, relieved. “I didn’t ask, but I’ve been hoping you were keeping tabs.”

“I always do,” he said, softer now.

I didn’t respond.

The soft whirring of machines had become background noise by now.

“Has Ronan stirred at all?” I asked after a beat of silence, fingers hovering over my keyboard.

Zane didn’t respond right away.

I glanced at him. He was staring blankly at a monitor, jaw clenched, eyes glassy in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“Zane?”

His shoulders dropped just slightly. “No. Not yet.”

I swallowed. “What are the doctors saying?”

Still nothing. Just the quiet clicking of his mouse, like maybe if he worked fast enough, it would distract him from the fact that Ronan hadn’t opened his eyes in weeks.

“You don’t have to—”

“They’re not saying anything anymore,” he said. “Because they don’t know. Neural inflammation’s going down, but there’s no activity. No signs of consciousness. No change.”

I went still.

He didn’t look at me. “This… this is the only thing I can do right now. Keep going. Keep digging. If I stop—”

“You’ll lose it,” I finished softly.

I understood where he was coming from. Even though Kabir wasn’t lying in a coma somewhere in the building, it felt the same.

Like missing a limb.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

I hesitated, fingers tightening on my armrest. “Is there… something going on between—”

His chair creaked as he straightened suddenly, like a wire had snapped in his brain. He was frowning at his screen.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Hang on.” His fingers flew over the keys. “Project Ruby—there’s a flag here. Weird notation on asset routing. Like someone tried to overwrite access logs but didn’t clean up the metadata.”

I wheeled closer.

“Get this—it’s a remote backup registry with tiered clearance levels. Last active transfer… was to a secondary site.”

“Where?” I asked.

He zoomed in on the reference.

“It’s vague. Just calls it ‘RSR Grounds – Private Sector Access Only.’” He paused. “RSR as in… Robert fucking Sanchez Romano.”

My breath caught. “Are you saying the Doom Switch could be at his personal residence?”

“I’m saying there’s a chance. And that’s the first actual thread we’ve had in days.” Zane’s face lit up with something that looked dangerously close to hope. “If we shut down Doom Switch, and Kabir hasn’t fused it with Sentrix yet, we can recover the system integrity.”

I nodded slowly. “Assuming.”

“Assuming,” he echoed. “But if there’s a window, I’m taking it. I’ll start working on the mission plan—scouting his estate, known entry points, security rotations.”

He pushed away from the desk and stood. “I’ll gather everyone. Be in the conference room in ten?”

“Go,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

As his footsteps faded down the hall, I turned back to the screen.

Just one more sweep.

I scrolled through the decrypted old files and suddenly paused.

A hidden directory flickered briefly—then vanished.

No label. No permissions.

I overrode the firewall.

It gave way too easily.

What loaded wasn’t just unusual—it was wrong. Redacted logs. Mission records. Authorizations from Robert Callahan—Romano’s former identity.

And at the bottom…

Asset: Sǐwáng

Status: Inactive

Last Active: 6 years ago

Type: Unknown

Defection Risk: Critical

File Visibility: Tier 1

Sǐwáng?

No first name. No history. No location.

Just the word.

I filed it away for later.

For now, I had to get to the conference room. Zane was about to brief the team on the mission that could finally put us one step ahead.

Even if just for a moment.