Page 17 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

The van wound through Dallas’s dark streets, everyone silent with the focused intensity following a high-risk operation.Despite their successful extraction, Atticus remained tense, his gaze fixed on the secured device.

As the van continued toward the safe house, she caught Atticus’s gaze briefly in the dim light.The intensity she saw spoke volumes—gratitude for her presence, respect for her contribution, and something deeper, something unspoken passing between them like an electric current.

Whatever developed between them was far from simple.And far from over.

ChapterSix

The executive suite at Dynamis headquarters was a fortress within a fortress.Three floors above Atticus’s office, the space had originally served as a secure recovery location for agents returning from difficult missions.Over the years, it had evolved into Atticus’s private domain when work demanded he stay close.

Sabrina paused at the threshold.This wasn’t just another room in the complex; this was personal territory.Crossing it felt significant in ways she wasn’t prepared to analyze.

“The security is better here than anywhere else,” Atticus said, mistaking her hesitation for concern.“Mitchell’s reach is extensive, but not even he can penetrate this building.”

The suite surprised her—not with stark functionality, but with warmth.Rich wood floors, comfortable leather furniture, and carefully chosen artwork created an atmosphere more home than office.Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Dallas as twilight descended, city lights blinking on like earthbound stars.

“The kitchen’s stocked,” Atticus said, setting down their files.“I’ll have additional medical journals sent up if you need them.”

“This should be enough to start,” Sabrina replied, focusing on the task rather than the space’s unexpected intimacy.“I need to cross-reference the victims’ blood work with the BioGenix compounds.”

She began arranging her files on the dining table when a map on the far wall caught her attention—BioGenix facilities pinned to a corkboard.

“How long have you had that?”she asked, moving closer.

Atticus joined her.“Since the day after I met you at the gala.I’ve been tracking shipments in and out of their main facility.”His voice dropped.“Three senior researchers have disappeared in the past two weeks.All from their most secure lab division.No police reports filed.”

“He’s cleaning house,” Sabrina murmured, studying the red pins marking each location.“Eliminating anyone with direct knowledge of the bioweapon program.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He stood close enough that she felt his presence—the subtle warmth radiating from him, the scent of cedar and clean cotton with something uniquely him beneath.

“This one,” she said, pointing to a facility on Dallas’s outskirts, “received three unmarked shipments last week according to our cardiac research fellow.Dr.Roberts sits on the joint oversight committee that reviews incoming research materials for clinical trials.”

Atticus’s eyes narrowed.“We haven’t detected those.What kind of shipments?”

“Refrigerated containers requiring level-four biohazard protocols.Logged as proprietary research materials.Roberts said they bypassed standard inspection on Mitchell’s direct authorization.”

“Mitchell’s accelerating his timeline,” Atticus said, jaw tightening as he added another pin.“The gala breach rattled him more than we thought.”

For the next several hours, they worked in tandem, her medical knowledge complementing his intelligence gathering with unexpected synchronicity.Sabrina lost herself in cellular degradation patterns across the four victims, seeking the thread that might lead to a treatment.Atticus analyzed communications and financial records, building the case against Mitchell one piece of evidence at a time.

Eventually, Sabrina noticed darkness had fallen.Her life outside Dynamis seemed increasingly distant—the scheduled surgeries, research papers, the Highland Park townhouse she rarely saw in daylight.The relentless pace she’d maintained for years now appeared less like dedication and more like avoidance.

She remembered her colleague Sarah asking what she did for fun.Sabrina had stared blankly before mumbling something about medical journals.Sarah’s pitying look had lingered in her memory.

It wasn’t simple workaholism.After losing four patients despite everything she’d done during her military service, Sabrina had retreated into trauma surgery’s controlled environment.There, protocols were clear, hierarchy established, boundaries defined.She’d excelled within that structure, becoming one of Dallas Memorial’s most respected surgeons.

Excellence had exacted its price: no serious relationships, friendships limited to occasional drinks with colleagues, family interactions reduced to obligatory holiday calls with her critical father.Her mother had stopped trying to introduce her to “nice doctors” years ago.

Watching Atticus across the table, a man who’d similarly shaped his life around a singular mission, Sabrina recognized her own isolation reflected back.What remained if she stripped away the surgeon’s mask and professional competence?The question unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Her stomach growled, interrupting her thoughts.They’d barely touched the Thai food Atticus had ordered, both consumed by their work.Even basic self-care often fell victim to her focus.

Her phone buzzed.“It’s from Dr.Cho,” she said, frowning at the screen.“At nearly one in the morning.”

She showed Atticus the message:Dr.Wells, I owe you an apology.The legal response was not my decision.I’m in over my head and need your expertise.Another researcher disappeared yesterday—Martinez from the containment team.I have information about the next test phase and formulation details you’ll need for treatment protocols.Please meet me.Crimson Café, 2 p.m.tomorrow.

Atticus moved closer, brow furrowed.“Late night texts from someone who threatened legal action against you weeks ago.It could be a trap.”

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