Page 135 of BounBound By Scars

“Settle down,” Sebastian interjected, placing a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “You said you had shit to tell.”

Zane’s chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. I honestly thought he might explode… again.

He shook his anger off and leaned forward. “I’ve been digging into the Pentagon feeds from the White House op. Found something.”

He looked at Sebastian. “Do you know who Leonard Perrin is?”

Zarek frowned. “Wasn’t that your Director during your CIA days?”

Seb nodded slowly, confused. “Yeah… he was. Died almost eight years ago.”

Zane sat down beside him, eyes scanning the group. “Leonard Perrin didn’t justdie. According to the autopsy, it was a heart attack. But things weren’t adding up. I think… he was eliminated.”

He let that sit for a beat before adding, “Leonard Perrin was the initial recruit for Bridgewood Alpha One. But after his death, the candidacy was quietly replaced by someone else—Robert Callahan. Now known as Robert Romano. The Secretary of Defense.”

My stomach dropped.

What the actual fuck?

“Amelia,” Zane’s voice softened just a fraction. “I need your help. There’s a shit ton of data. Can you—will you help?”

I bit back the instinct to snap at him. My jaw tightened, my lips pressed into a line before I gave him a stiff nod.

What choice did I have?

None.

Maybe if I sat with him long enough—pored through those Pentagon files day in and day out—I could convince him that Kabir wasn’t a traitor. That he hadn’t abandoned us. That he was doing this for a reason.

But as I looked around the room—at Zarek’s stoicism, at Leora’s conflicted expression, at Sebastian’s weariness, at Kaylan and Logan’s fractured silence—I saw it.

The cracks.

A fracture forming, slow and jagged.

And I was completely helpless to stop it.

THIRTY-ONE

Amelia

“Fuck!”

Zane’s strained whisper snapped my attention away from the screen. I was seated beside him, combing through eight years of Pentagon data—oldest to newest. Zane was working from newest to oldest, the plan being to meet somewhere in the middle.

Two days in, and progress was crawling.

There was still no mention—no whisper—of the Doom Switch. Or anything that could be perceived as the Doom Switch.

“What happened?” I asked cautiously.

Zane stood up abruptly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, already pacing.

Without another word, he stormed off to his private office. A moment later, he returned holding a small, round device, fiddling with its controls.

“Get the team assembled here,” he said, eyes glued to the device.

I frowned. “What’s going on?”

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