Page 2 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

Atticus Cameron knelt on one knee, ignoring the morning heat that seemed to rise from the parched ground in visible waves.Eight years to the day.The hot breeze carried the scent of creosote and sun-baked limestone, mingling with the sweet perfume of the blue hydrangeas he placed against the cold stone—Jane’s favorite, the exact shade of her eyes when she’d laughed.

Dallas sprawled around them, a city of glass and ambition, the distant hum of traffic a reminder that life continued relentlessly, regardless of the holes torn in individual hearts.Atticus had once loved this city for the opportunities it offered.Now he merely tolerated it as the place that held Jane’s remains and his most haunting memories.

“We’re getting closer, Jane,” he said, his voice low and steady despite the rage that had seemed to be his constant companion.“I can feel it.The traps are being laid, the net is tightening.”

A cardinal landed on a nearby headstone, its brilliant red plumage a stark contrast to the surrounding stones.Jane had loved cardinals, claimed they were messengers from those who’d passed.Atticus wasn’t a superstitious man—couldn’t afford to be in his line of work—but the timing felt significant nonetheless.He watched the bird tilt its head, studying him with a beady black eye before taking flight into the cloudless blue sky.

“I won’t stop until I know who took you from us,” he promised.“Until they understand exactly what they stole from me…from Anna.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket.Normally, he’d ignore it here, in this most private of moments, but the special ringtone told him this was the call he’d been waiting for.Even Jane would understand this interruption.

“What have you got for me?”Atticus spoke without preamble.

“A break,” Cal Cruz answered, excitement vibrating through his usually controlled tone.“Something solid.Something we can use.”

Cal rarely got this animated about leads, maintaining his characteristic focus regardless of the situation.If he was this energized, the lead must be significant.

Atticus rose to his feet, muscles coiled with lethal grace, a testament to the twenty years he’d spent in military and covert operations before founding Dynamis.Sunlight highlighted the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples, the only visible marker of the burden he’d carried these past eight years.His face remained hard edged and handsome, with the kind of weathered strength that made people instinctively step aside when he entered a room.His lips rarely relaxed into anything approaching a smile since the day Jane died.

“I’ll be at headquarters in thirty minutes,” he said, brushing cemetery dust from his tailored charcoal suit.In Dallas, even grief had a dress code.

“Everyone’s already assembling,” Cal replied.“This is it, Atticus.The thread we’ve been looking for.”

He ended the call and touched his fingers to his lips, then to Jane’s name—their private goodbye, a ritual stretching back to their first separation during his early military years, when he’d been deployed to places he wasn’t allowed to name and she’d waited with the steady patience that had defined her.

“I won’t rest until it’s done,” he promised her.“And then maybe—maybe we’ll both find peace.”

The drive to Dynamis headquarters took him through the sprawling Dallas suburbs, past manicured lawns where sprinklers fought a losing battle against the merciless heat, before giving way to the sleek high-rises of the business district.His Audi moved through traffic with the same controlled exactness that characterized its driver, powerful but unobtrusive.

Dallas had transformed in the fifteen years since he’d first arrived.Glass towers reached ever higher into the Texas sky, monuments to commerce and technology.Dynamis occupied the top eight floors of one such building, its mirrored windows reflecting the sun with blinding intensity, designed to look like just another corporate success story.The illusion was deliberate.Anonymity was safety in his business.

The protection began in the underground parking garage, where three separate biometric scanners verified his identity before the reinforced elevator doors slid open.Dynamis Security wasn’t just another private military contractor.They were the silent shield between American interests and those who threatened them, moving in shadows where even the CIA feared to tread.

He had built the company from nothing after leaving government service, constructing an organization that operated by his rules, with his standards of excellence.No compromises.No shortcuts.No acceptable losses.He’d lived with one unacceptable loss for eight years; he wouldn’t tolerate more.

The elevator ascended smoothly to the fifty-second floor, the subtle weight shift as it decelerated reminding him of the slight pressure before a HALO jump.The doors opened to reveal a reception area designed to project restrained wealth and absolute competence.The walls displayed abstract art in cool blues and grays, selected by Jane when he’d first opened these offices.He’d never had the heart to change them.

Atticus nodded to the security team as he strode through, acknowledging Madison at reception with a brief inclination of his head.Years of command had ingrained in him the habit of acknowledging the people who kept his operation running, from the newest security guard to his inner circle of elite operatives.They weren’t employees; they were extensions of his will, people who had proven themselves through fire and blood.

The main conference room occupied the northwest corner of the building, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the Dallas skyline.Five people waited around the glass table, tension vibrating in the air like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.His team.His family, in every way that mattered after Jane.

Cal Cruz looked up from his laptop, his tattooed fingers never ceasing their dance across the keyboard.At thirty-six, the computer genius known as Cypher in underground hacker circles was still boyishly handsome with an irreverent smile that belied the darkness he’d seen.The tribal designs that snaked up his forearms contrasted with the familiarity his movements, like an ancient warrior wielding modern weapons.

“The gang’s all here, boss,” Cal said, tilting his head toward the others, his South Carolina drawl more pronounced than usual.He only slipped back into it when excited or agitated.

Nathan Locke sat with his arm draped casually around his wife, Eden’s, shoulders.They made a striking couple—Nate with his surfer looks, blond hair and dark eyes—an unusual combination that drew second glances—and Eden with her exotic beauty, her olive skin and raven-black hair a testament to her Israeli heritage.Together, they were Dynamis’s most effective husband-wife field team, lethal and precise.Their marriage had survived the crucible of countless operations, emerging stronger for the shared danger.Atticus had envied them that bond once.Now he merely respected it.

Max Devlin’s imposing frame occupied the chair at the far end, his military-short hair and watchful eyes giving him the look of a predator temporarily at rest.Six foot four and built like a linebacker, Max had been with Atticus the longest, following him from government service into the private sector without hesitation.Beside him stood his wife, Jade.Standing at five ten, with her pixie-short hair and striking green eyes set against skin the color of burnished copper, she had the kind of beauty that stopped conversations when she entered a room.Dynamis’s top sniper and tactical specialist, she could hit a target from a mile away and had more confirmed kills than the rest of them combined.Her face remained placid, only the slight narrowing of her eyes betraying her anticipation.

“Show me what we’ve got,” Atticus said without preamble, taking his seat at the head of the table.Coffee waited for him in a porcelain mug—black, no sugar—just as he preferred.Small courtesies, big loyalties.That was the Dynamis way.

Cal tapped a key, and the wall screen came to life with photographs, financial records, and a complex diagram of connections that resembled a spider’s web more than a traditional organizational chart.The lights dimmed automatically, casting everyone’s faces in the blue glow of the screen.

“For eight years, we’ve been looking at this from the wrong angle,” Cal said, highlighting a section of the diagram with a laser pointer that cut through the artificial gloom like a sniper’s targeting laser.“We’ve been focusing on who pulled the trigger, not who gave the order.”

Atticus leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished table surface.The room fell into a deeper silence, the kind that preceded life-changing revelations.Even the usual hum of the building’s systems seemed muted, as if the structure itself was holding its breath.

“The shooters were hired muscle,” Jade added.“Contracted through a shell company based in the Caymans.They were killed in a police raid forty-eight hours after Jane’s murder.”

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