Page 46 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

On the screens around them, data began flowing in torrents. The central display showed a map of North America with red dots representing active neural interfaces—far more than any of them had imagined.

Jesus, Quinton breathed. There are hundreds of them.

Conall watched Nadine’s face, noting the microexpressions that indicated her ongoing struggle with the system. Her breathing had become shallow and rapid, and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the laboratory’s cool temperature.

Through their bond, he caught fragmentary impressions of what she was experiencing—other minds, other personalities, artificial behavioral patterns layered over natural shifter consciousness like sediment over bedrock.

Beginning cascade introduction, she said, her voice distant and strained. The system is resistant. It’s trying to activate dormant programming in response to the intrusion.

The red dots on the display began flickering as Nadine’s corrupted data propagated through the network. Some began going dark—interfaces going offline as their programming failed. But others pulsed brighter, and through the bond Conall felt the system fighting back.

It’s working, Quinton reported, monitoring the technical displays. Interface failures are cascading through the network. But the central hub is trying to compensate, rerouting through backup systems.

Nadine’s hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles white with strain. The protocol is… It’s trying to use my interface as a command center. Override my consciousness and use me, my mind, to stabilize the network.

Conall moved closer, ready to disconnect her if necessary.

Fight it, he said, his voice carrying all the conviction he could summon. You’re stronger than any program. Stronger than Gregory’s conditioning.

The battle played out on both digital and biological levels. On the screens, the map showed interfaces failing across the continent as Nadine’s cascade failure spread. But her body trembled with the effort of maintaining her identity against a technology designed to rewrite her very sense of self.

Almost…, she gasped. Almost there. The central hub is destabilizing. Just need to maintain…

The mate bond flared as she drew strength from their connection, using it as an anchor against the protocol’s attempts to subsume her personality.

Conall poured every ounce of love and trust through their bond, giving her something real to hold on to as artificial programming tried to convince her that loyalty to Gregory’s cause was her only purpose.

On the display, the last cluster of red dots flickered and went dark.

Nadine’s eyes snapped open, and she let out a scream that was equal parts triumph and agony. The interface connection sparked and died, smoke rising from the neural port as the technology overloaded and burned out.

Nadine shuddered violently, and Conall ripped the connection out of the port, throwing it to the ground as if it was a venomous snake.

She collapsed forward, and Conall caught her as tremors racked her body. The foreign presence that had been whispering at the edges of her thoughts, the edges of the bond, finally fell silent.

It’s done, she whispered. The protocol is dead. Every interface in the network is offline.

Quinton was already pulling up confirmation data. Network collapse is complete. No active interfaces showing on the continental grid.

We need to finish downloading Gregory’s files, Nadine said, forcing herself to stand despite her obvious exhaustion. Intelligence on the other Prometheus Group leaders, financial networks, communication protocols. Everything needed to roll up the entire conspiracy.

You’ve done enough, Conall said, but she was already moving toward the terminals.

No, I haven’t. Not until every one of Gregory’s coconspirators is in custody.

The sound of approaching vehicles announced Anders’s arrival. Through the laboratory’s windows, Conall could see teams deploying around the facility’s perimeter.

Anders entered the laboratory with his usual precision, taking in Gregory’s body and the technical equipment with professional assessment. Status report.

Omicron Protocol is permanently disabled, Nadine said without looking up from her download. Every neural interface in the network has been destroyed—we induced a cascade failure. Chimera’s North American operations are finished.

Outstanding work. Anders moved to examine Gregory’s body. And the Prometheus Group?

Download is at sixty percent, Quinton reported. Complete intelligence package on operatives, safe houses, financial networks. Everything needed for coordinated arrests.

How long do we have before they realize Gregory is compromised?

Unknown, Nadine replied. But the cascade failure should buy us time. Other Prometheus leaders will be dealing with massive communication breakdowns as their assets regain independent thought.

Anders nodded. As soon as we have the intel, I’ll have my teams execute simultaneous arrests.

You can start anytime, then, Quinton said. The download’s complete. Full intelligence package is secured.

Good. Anders turned to Conall. I brought demo charges as requested. How much time do you need?

Twenty minutes, Conall estimated, already mentally mapping placement points for maximum effect. Gregory’s research, his equipment, his entire infrastructure—all of it needed to be eliminated to prevent other groups from continuing his work.

Grim satisfaction suffused Conall as he began placing charges throughout the facility.

The man who had shaped Nadine from childhood, who had manipulated pack politics for decades, who had planned to reduce every shifter community to puppet status—his legacy would end here, in fire and rubble.

Behind him, Nadine and Quinton worked to secure the last of the intelligence files. Their coordination was seamless now.

Charges placed, Conall reported when he returned to the laboratory. Full structural collapse, complete evidence destruction.

Then let’s get out of here, Anders said. We’ve got what we came for.

They evacuated the facility, Anders’s team providing security while the intelligence package was secured for transport. As they reached the minimum safe distance, Conall looked back at the concrete building that had housed Gregory’s ambitions.

Ready? he asked Nadine.

She stared at the facility for a long moment, her complex emotions weaving their way through the bond—grief for the father who might have been, satisfaction at the justice finally served, relief that Gregory’s victims were finally free.

Ready, she said.

Conall triggered the detonator.

The explosion lit up the desert night, Gregory’s laboratory disappearing in a pillar of fire and smoke.

The man who had tried to reshape shifter society through fear and manipulation was truly gone now, along with every tool he’d built to enforce his vision.

As they drove back toward Sunburst territory, Conall reached for Nadine’s hand. Through their bond, he felt her exhaustion giving way to something that might have been peace.

Conall’s phone buzzed as they reached the highway. Anders’s name appeared on the display.

Hi, Anders, Conall answered, putting the call on speaker so Nadine and Quinton could hear.

We’ve got him—the traitor. Anders’s voice held dark satisfaction. Robert Mitchell. Una spotted him first. She was running some routine security checks for me when she noticed someone accessing classified files during an unauthorized shift.

Conall felt Nadine’s mixture of vindication and sorrow. She’d been right about there being a traitor, even if she’d initially suspected the wrong people.

How much did he compromise? Quinton asked from the back seat.

We’re not completely sure yet. Security protocols, leadership discussions, operational schedules—he had access to everything through his communications role. Anders’s disgust was evident. Anyway, Malcolm wants a full report once you’re back.

On our way, Conall confirmed, ending the call.

The truck fell silent as they processed the revelation. Robert Mitchell—someone the twins had known for years, someone who’d grown up with Malcolm and Larissa—had been systematically betraying them while maintaining the appearance of loyal service.

I’m sorry, Nadine said suddenly.

For what? Conall asked.

For suspecting Quinton. For not seeing the real threat. She turned to look at Quinton in the back seat. You were protecting the pack from a legitimate security breach, and I accused you of being the traitor.

Quinton met her gaze in the rearview mirror. You were following the evidence. It’s what any good investigator would do.

The evidence was planted, she said. Gregory knew how to make it point wherever he wanted.

But you also knew when to trust what you could see, Quinton replied. When it mattered most, you chose to protect the pack instead of pursuing revenge. That’s what made the difference.

They had serious work ahead of them—debriefing with Sunburst’s alphas, coordinating with other packs, helping the freed assets adjust to their recovered identities.

But for the first time since she’d appeared in his life, the future felt full of possibility rather than threat.

Gregory Torrance was dead.

Chimera was powerless.

The Prometheus Group was finished.

And the woman who had been shaped to destroy everything Conall loved had instead chosen to save it.

Some stories , he reflected, have better endings than anyone has a right to expect .

Still, something didn’t sit right.