Page 10 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

“Because I recognize pushing when I see it,” he replied, moving to a sophisticated computer setup in one corner.“And because you’re right—we’re asking you to take extraordinary risks based on limited information.”

She studied him in the late afternoon light that streamed through the windows.The controlled power in his movements, the shadows in his eyes that never fully retreated, the slight stiffness in his left shoulder that suggested an old injury.Everything about Atticus Cameron spoke of a man forged by violence yet governed by discipline.

“So give me more information,” she challenged, crossing to stand beside him.

As their session stretched beyond the hour she’d allocated, Sabrina discreetly sent a text to the hospital.She caught Atticus watching her as she typed.

“Calling in sick?”he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Asking Dr.Liu to cover my evening rounds,” she replied, tucking the phone away.“Some things are more important than hospital politics.”

He nodded once, understanding the professional risk she was already taking by being here.

For the next two hours, they delved into the evidence against Mitchell and BioGenix—financial records, intercepted communications, surveillance photographs, and laboratory requisitions that painted a damning picture of corruption and deadly intent.Sabrina’s medical background allowed her to interpret technical details the Dynamis team had flagged but not fully understood, while Atticus connected seemingly disparate elements into a comprehensive strategy.

As evening descended over Dallas, painting the sky in deepening shades of amber and violet, Sabrina found herself seated beside Atticus at his workstation, poring over laboratory reports that confirmed her worst suspicions about the bioweapon’s capabilities.

The office had grown warm with the trapped heat of the setting sun.Sabrina removed her blazer, draping it over the back of her chair as she leaned forward to examine a particularly troubling toxicology report.The silk of her blouse clung to her, and she absently loosened the knot of hair at her nape, allowing a few strands to fall around her face as she concentrated.

“This cellular degradation pattern,” she murmured, tapping the screen.“It’s consistent with what I observed in the second victim, but the progression rate is significantly accelerated.They’re enhancing its virulence.”

When Atticus didn’t immediately respond, she glanced up to find him watching her.Something in his expression made heat rise unexpectedly to her cheeks.His gaze lingered briefly on the curve of her neck before returning to the screen with deliberate focus.

The moment stretched between them, charged with an undercurrent neither of them had anticipated.She sensed his sudden discomfort, the slight stiffening of his posture, and misinterpreted it as professional distrust.

“I’ve shown you mine,” she said, gesturing toward her medical data with a challenging arch of her eyebrow.“Now show me yours.”

The unintended double entendre hung in the air, creating a charged silence that made her pulse quicken.Atticus’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes—a momentary crack in that perfect control—before he turned back to the computer.

“Mitchell’s financial records,” he said, pulling up encrypted files.“The transactions were expertly hidden, but we’ve traced payments from his charitable foundation through nearly two dozen offshore accounts before they reached BioGenix’s specialized research division.”

Sabrina leaned over his shoulder to examine the complex financial web, suddenly aware of their proximity—the scent of his cologne, the controlled rhythm of his breathing, the warmth emanating from his body.She remained perfectly still, drawing on the same focus she maintained during surgeries.

“These dates,” she said, pointing to a sequence of transactions.“They align exactly with the timeline of my patients’ exposures and deaths.”

“Confirmation payments,” Atticus suggested, his voice steady despite the tension between them.“Bonuses for successful testing milestones.”

“They’re monetizing suffering,” she said, her clinical detachment finally cracking to reveal anger.“Treating human lives as acceptable collateral damage.”

“That’s what men like Mitchell do,” Atticus replied, something dark and knowing in his voice.“They calculate the value of human life against their objectives and find it wanting.”

The bitterness in his tone drew her attention to the wall of photographs.Among them, prominently displayed in a silver frame, was the image of a beautiful blond woman with laughing eyes, her arms around a dark-haired girl who shared Atticus’s determined chin and penetrating gaze.

“Your wife,” Sabrina said quietly, not a question.

Atticus followed her gaze, and something vulnerable passed across his face before the composed mask returned.“Jane,” he confirmed.“And our daughter, Anna.”

The simple acknowledgment contained volumes of grief, loss, and determination.Sabrina moved to stand before the photograph, studying the vibrant, smiling woman who’d been loved by the man beside her.

“She was beautiful,” she said, the genuine compassion in her voice creating the first real personal connection between them despite both their efforts to maintain professional boundaries.

“She was extraordinary,” Atticus corrected softly, coming to stand beside her.“Brilliant, fearless, and uncommonly kind.The kind of person who made everyone around her better simply by expecting the best from them.”

“And your daughter?”Sabrina asked, noting the fierce pride in his voice when he spoke of the girl.

“Anna survived.”The words carried the weight of gratitude, grief, and rage in equal measure.“She’s in college now.Georgetown.Political science.She wants to change the system from within.”

Sabrina nodded, understanding the mixture of pride and fear such a path would evoke in a father who knew firsthand the corruption within that system.“She has your determination.”

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