The Blackthorn commander, a man named Thorne, nodded slowly, his eyes calculating. "Secure the study. Permanently. Find the terminal. Understand." He turned to his team, his voice cutting through the tension. "Alpha team, secure the west wing. Beta team, with me. Vanessa Carter's private study. Now."
His men moved with practiced efficiency, their dark uniforms melting into the shadows of the mansion’s opulent corridors. Zayn watched them go, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest. The threat of Vanessa's failsafe, the last digital weapon she held over Aria, was being neutralized. He felt the cold steel of the panic room door against his back, a stark contrast to the fleeting warmth of victory.
The commander’s pragmatic approach is beneficial. His loyalty is transactional, but his effe
