Page 107 of BounBound By Scars

Every step I took toward the East Wing felt like I was dragging bricks behind me. My lungs weren’t working right. My pulse was riotous. I had the Sentrix in my inner jacket pocket, pressed against my chest like a second heartbeat.

But the mission didn’t feel like a win.

Not when I’d left her behind.

Not when she was weaponless, alone, and playing bait in a hallway crawling with unknowns.

She was supposed to play the diplomat if she got spotted—harmless, lost, maybe a bit tipsy. I knew her. She could fake that. Her face, her posture—it could all shift in a blink.

But I also knew her tells. The tight pull around her eyes when she was bracing for something. The way her fingers trembled just before she hid them in her pockets. The way she always said my name a little differently when she was scared.

And fuck, she was scared. I’d seen it. She’d masked it under strategy, under grit and snark, but I knew.

She’d gone in anyway.

Because the op required her to.

My hands curled into fists as I ducked through a low-lit corridor. I was halfway to the East Wing now. The music from the ballroom was faint but growing louder.

I should’ve kept walking.

Should’ve delivered the Sentrix to Dylan. Should’ve kept my promise to be the extraction.

But my pull to her… it was louder.

Stronger.

And way more sacred.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Fuck this.

I spun around and double-backed, dialing Dylan and Delara on our secured line. “Switching plans,” I said under my breath. “I’m getting Falcon. Cover my exit.”

Delara’s voice clicked in next. “Cipher, stick to the op. You’re exposed the longer—”

“Cover me,” I snapped. “That’s an order.”

Silence.

Then Dylan’s voice, level as always. “Copy, Cipher.”

I picked up speed, moving like a shadow between guests and security. Ducking into side halls, hugging the architecture, timing my steps with the soft orchestral crescendos bleeding in from the gala.

I didn’t even know exactly where she’d gone so I tapped into our secure line.

“Falcon, come in.”

She didn’t answer.

But I knew Amelia Desmond.

I knew the way she thought. The route she’d take. The place she’d lure them. Her most used patterns during the VR sims.

And I would find her.

Or I’d bring the whole fucking White House down trying.

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