Page 168 of BounBound By Scars

I gave him a tired smirk. “That’s what they’ve been calling the core system—the one that controls all the distributed Crazon nodes. The big red button, if you will.”

Romano chuckled again, a low, rich sound laced with condescension. “Christ.Doom Switch. That’s good. That’s real good.”

I gave a nonchalant shrug, nursing my whiskey. “They always did like their drama. Big names. Big threats. Keeps them feeling important.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with amusement. “And you?”

“I like clarity,” I said simply. “Labels make people feel safe. But I’ve stopped looking for safe.”

That seemed to satisfy something in him.

He leaned back, savoring his drink like a man who’d already won the war and was now sipping through the aftermath.

That smugness—that need to gloat—it was always there, just waiting for someone clever enough to draw it out.

I leaned forward slightly, dropped my voice just enough to shift the tone.

“But they don’t know, do they?”

Romano’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t knowwhat?”

I let a breath out like I hated even saying it. Like it still hurt.

“That they’re wasting their time.” I tapped the arm of my chair once, lightly. “Still fighting the old war. Still looking for bombs. Satellites. Weapons of mass destruction that only exist on outdated blueprints.”

I shook my head slowly. “They’re trying to fight analog with analog.”

Romano didn’t answer right away.

His smile faded, replaced with something more curious.

I watched the calculation move behind his eyes.

He thought he had power because he had the plans.

I had power because I knew how to read him.

“You think they’re missing it?” he asked, testing me.

“Iknowthey are.” I leaned back now, just slightly, giving him the illusion he was the one in control. “They’re still treating this like World War III. Hack the power grid. Blow up a data center. Leak some top-secret documents.”

I scoffed. “That era’s gone. Too messy. Too visible.”

Romano stood, walking to the massive map mounted behind his desk. The lights caught the sheen of the pins he'd placed across continents like he was playing God with a globe.

“They still think the world is built on data,” he murmured, tapping a point in Eastern Europe.

He glanced back at me. “It’s not.”

He walked his fingers across to South America, then finally tapped a red dot on the U.S. East Coast.

“It’s built on belief.”

I didn’t respond. I let the silence stretch just long enough to encourage him.

Romano turned, eyes bright with something unholy. “Belief can be manufactured.”

“Through misinformation?” I asked carefully. Curious. Not suspicious.

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