Page 8

Amelia

“Seb?”

His head snapped up, eyes tired but instantly focused. He had been in his office for hours, drowning in reports, calls, and whatever mental battle he was having with himself.

I didn’t know if Kabir and Zane had decoded the message yet, and I was sure Seb would tell the team if it was urgent.

But I needed to know.

I couldn’t just go up to Kabir and ask him. We weren’t really talking, were we? Zane was nowhere to be found.

Sebastian was my only option.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He smiled, but exhaustion was written all over his face.

“You okay?”

He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “Yeah, just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

I knew why.

He couldn’t sleep without alcohol. But he needed rest. If he wanted to run this damn company properly—without fainting, preferably.

“You need sleep, Seb.” I told him sternly.

He ran a hand over his face. His rich brown skin looked gray somehow, like the exhaustion had settled beneath it.

“I know. Just… the message isn’t getting us anywhere.”

I frowned.

Right. The message.

“What does it say?”

Sebastian swiveled his monitor toward me, and I took a seat opposite him, his desk between us.

Red morning, the fox escaped but the hound found us first. Opportunists came. Mercenaries on orders. Lasting injuries but quick death. In the end, No salvation. Silent Operators Neutralized.

I parted my lips in shock. “This tells us nothing. Of course, someone hired mercs to kill them.”

Seb shook his head and tapped on the screen.

My gaze zeroed in on the capitalized first letters of certain words:

R.O.M.L.I.N.S.O.N.

A name?

Romlinson.

“Who is Romlinson? Is that a real surname?” I asked, my brows furrowed.

Seb sighed, shaking his head. “Zane says it’s not a name at all. That it could be an acronym for something else they’re trying to tell us. Kabir says it is a name, but not the way we think.”

I squinted at the screen again. “Wait, I mean… any idiot could see that it’s a combination of their names. Rom from Romano, Lin from Ling, and Son from Tyson.”

“Yeah, we discussed that. But why tell us that?” Seb ran a hand through his short curls, eyes darkening in frustration. “It would be obvious to Pedro and Lan that we already knew that. The term has to stand for something. A company? A place? A—”

His words cut off as his eyes widened, a sudden realization striking him like a lightning bolt.

He quickly tapped on his desk, and as expected, the surface lit up to form a screen.

I straightened. “What?”

Seb didn’t answer. His mind had locked onto something, his entire focus narrowing like a sniper lining up a shot. Even my voice couldn’t break through.

A moment later, Zane and Kabir strode in.

The moment Kabir saw me, he stiffened. It was quick, barely noticeable, but I caught it. And just as quickly, he composed himself, his usual impassive mask sliding back into place.

“Ranger?” Zane asked, immediately sensing the shift in the room.

Seb exhaled. “A code.”

His voice was hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure he was right.

Kabir blinked. “A code for what? The Bitch?”

Seb narrowed his eyes at him, clearly unfamiliar with the term, so Zane answered instead.

“We renamed the Crazon from Operation Tantalus as The Bitch when you were… umm… incapacitated.”

Sebastian winced before nodding slowly. “Well, if it was the code to get in, we’ve botched our chances.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Suddenly, Kabir barked out a disbelieving laugh, his gaze locked onto some indistinct point in the room.

“ Iski maa ka …”

“Kabir,” I groaned automatically.

For a moment, his eyes found mine. And something… familiar passed between us.

As if this moment was reluctantly yanked out of our shared, yet buried past.

Calling it past felt shameful, though.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s not a code.”

His eyes scanned the room, flicking between Seb, Zane, and then finally me.

“It’s not even the big red button for the Doom Switch. Not even a last name. It is, however, the name of a catering company.”

Zane frowned. “A catering company?”

Seb, Zane, and I probably shared the same incredulous expression because Kabir quickly left the room.

When he returned, his laptop was in hand, and he set it down right next to me.

Right. Fucking. Next to me.

As he bent forward to show us whatever the hell he had found, his clothed arm grazed against my clothed shoulder.

And yet, the zap that tore through my entire body made me momentarily dizzy.

This is stupid.

It was just a fucking shoulder touch.

My mind betrayed me anyway, conjuring unwanted comparisons.

Even Sebastian’s hands, when they had traced over my bare waist, didn’t bring this kind of reaction.

Clothed shoulder versus bare waist.

I’m losing my goddamn mind.

Seb shot out of his chair, moving around his desk to join us.

“There,” Kabir pointed at the screen. A spreadsheet was open, detailing an event budget.

“That’s the budget sheet for a previous closed event at the White House.” He paused. “ Romlinson Signature is a company that’s been serving the White House for the last—you guessed it—seven years.”

Kabir stepped back and started pacing.

Zane and Seb were still locked onto the screen, something brewing behind their eyes.

Then, Kabir suddenly stopped.

“Zane, look into what other events they usually cater to.” His face twisted in disbelief. “Why the hell would they create a fucking catering company?”

Zane whistled, already typing something into his phone. “ Romlinson Signature is worth… hold your breath… $2.7 billion.”

Kabir and Zane chuckled.

Seb’s exasperated sigh cut through their amusement.

“Great work, Kabir. You guys get on it. Find the other events they cater to. Their location, the equipment they have, their staff, the security they hire, everything. Fuck! Even find the food they fucking serve. There has to be something that will get us some answers.”

Zane was the first to leave, already diving into his task.

But Kabir lingered.

I didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Hell, I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.

As I stood up, Seb’s arm wrapped around my waist. His face dipped low, lips brushing my ear.

“Let’s get some rest as you ordered, sweetheart.”

Holy. Fuck.

I exhaled a shaky breath and followed him out.

But not before catching the look of pure devastation on Kabir’s face.

And it destroyed me.

???

The moment Seb and I stepped into the other Blackthorn building, Zarek’s purposeful stride pulled our attention instantly.

“Seb,” he said with a nod, calm but firm. “I was just coming to talk to you.”

His gaze flicked to me for a brief second—something unreadable flashing in it—before Seb redirected the moment.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Zane told me about the Romlinson Signature find. How can I help?”

Seb offered a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah. Kabir connected the dots for us. He’s looking into it now.”

Zarek nodded, thoughtful… before his expression shifted.

“I’m glad Cipher’s proving to be a good asset for your team.”

A frown crept onto my face.

What the actual fuck?

An asset?

Seriously?

“Yeah… an amazing asset. Sure,” I muttered, sharper than I intended.

Zarek’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Amelia, you know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” I shot back.

“Alright,” Seb interrupted, cutting through the tension with just enough ease to make it feel intentional. “We’re heading to bed.”

As we walked past Zarek, Seb paused and turned back. His voice was calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “Kabir will keep you posted. He’s leading this.”

Zarek opened his mouth, maybe to say something more—something to justify himself.

But I cut him off.

“See you later, Ghost,” I said with a tight smile and kept walking.

Only once we were out of earshot did the thought really hit me.

I hadn’t noticed it before. Not really. Not until now.

The way Zarek always saw Kabir.

Not as a brother. Not as a friend. Just… an asset. A tool. Someone to rely on when shit needed fixing. Someone to throw into the fire and expect results.

And maybe that was the real problem.

Because while Zarek, Logan, and Dylan had always had each other—stood shoulder to shoulder, bled together, laughed together since their CIA stint—Kabir had no one. Not really.

No one to check on him when he stayed up working all night. No one to notice when he didn’t eat for twelve hours straight. No one to call out the silence in him when it wasn’t the good kind.

Except me.

And maybe that was just it. Maybe that was why he clung so tightly to our friendship… to me.

Because I was the only one who made him feel like more than a weapon. Like more than a brain with a keyboard. Like a man with a heart, and a soul, and the capacity to be loved.

And now… even I had walked away.

Fuck!