Page 18 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

“Or she’s genuinely terrified,” Sabrina countered.“The timing makes it credible—she’s reaching out when she thinks she won’t be monitored.The message doesn’t sound like Mitchell’s legal team crafted it.”She considered the implications.“If researchers are disappearing as you’ve documented, she could fear she’s next.Meeting at Crimson Café is smart—public, away from the hospital where I might be recognized despite my supposed absence.

“Mitchell doesn’t know I’ve connected with you and Dynamis.As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a nosy doctor in Phoenix with my mother.”

“A nosy doctor who’s already stepped on his toes,” Atticus corrected.“Mitchell doesn’t leave loose ends.The fact that you’re still breathing means he doesn’t consider you a serious threat yet—but that could change the moment you meet with Cho.”

Sabrina’s chin lifted in stubborn determination.“I can’t ignore this.She might know critical details about the deployment timeline.”

Atticus had long since removed his jacket and tie, his shirt open at the collar with sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms marked with occasional scars.Stubble shadowed his jaw, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled where he’d run his hands through it, giving him a rumpled quality that softened his features without diminishing their intensity.

“We do it together, or not at all,” he said, his voice allowing no argument.

“I’m the doctor.She contacted me, not you.”

“And I’m the one who’s spent eight years dealing with people like Mitchell,” he countered.“Trust me on this.We set the terms—not Cho, and certainly not Mitchell if he’s pulling her strings.”

The firmness in his tone should have irritated her.Instead, she found herself responding to the underlying concern.He wasn’t questioning her competence; he was drawing on experience she lacked.

“Fine,” she conceded.“But we do it tomorrow.If she really knows something about the next phase, we can’t wait.”

Atticus nodded, pulling out his phone.“I’ll have Cal set up surveillance and Jade in position as backup.”

While he made arrangements, Sabrina returned to the medical reports, but concentration proved elusive.Her mind kept circling back to the tension between them, an awareness that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the man whose space she’d entered.

“Cal’s arranged a secure meeting point,” Atticus said, rejoining her.“Crimson Café at 2 p.m.Jade will be in position thirty minutes prior.”

Sabrina nodded, turning a page in her medical journal.The words blurred, fatigue finally catching up after days of minimal sleep.

“You should rest,” Atticus said, his voice rougher than before.“There’s a guest room through that door.”

“I’m close to something,” she replied, gesturing to the reports.“The neural tissue degradation follows a distinct pattern across all victims, but the progression rate varies.If I can isolate the variable…”

Her voice trailed off as she reached for another file and felt the room tilt.Despite their earlier meal, neither had eaten properly, and exhaustion was taking its toll.

Atticus was beside her instantly, steadying her with a touch that burned against her skin.

“Medical journals also recommend food and sleep for the doctors who read them,” he said, humor not masking his concern.

She meant to smile, to brush it off professionally, but his proximity overwhelmed her senses.Heat radiated from him, and she realized how long it had been since she’d been this close to anyone who made her pulse quicken for reasons unrelated to trauma.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the words lacked conviction.

His hand remained at her elbow, thumb tracing small circles against her blouse.The simple touch shouldn’t have affected her so strongly, but her skin tingled beneath the fabric as if his fingers left invisible marks.

“When was the last time you slept more than a few hours?”he asked.

She opened her mouth to deflect, then realized there was no point lying to someone who’d made a career of reading people.“The night before I met you,” she admitted.

“Same,” he said with a ghost of a smile that transformed his face, softening the hard edges and revealing glimpses of the man he might have been before grief carved its mark.

Something shifted between them, subtle yet seismic.

“Sabrina.”Her name was a whisper on his lips, reverent in its softness.

She looked up, meeting his gaze directly for what felt like the first time since entering the apartment.What she saw stole her breath—hunger, need, and raw vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, even as his free hand traced the line of her jaw with exquisite gentleness.

“Probably,” she agreed, not moving away.

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