Part 3When His Protégée Defused Bombs With Eyes Closed, I Doomed Them All

I suited up and raced into the building. No blueprints, no mission plan. But I had the memories of my past life.

I bypassed the faulty wiring Eva had set, ignored the flashing red lights of the deadly traps she’d activated, and went straight for the core server.

The liquid nitrogen hissed, white fog filling the room. The piercing alarm cut out. The secondary detonation sequence was successfully frozen.

I pulled off my helmet, my vision blurred by a mix of cold sweat and vapor. I sagged against the wall, completely spent, on the verge of collapse.

When I walked out of the building, I was met with a chorus of relieved cheers. My colleagues rushed forward, supporting me, their words a jumble of gratitude and fear.

“Sienna, you’re a god!”

“I knew it! If anyone could fix this, it was you!”

Invitations for a celebratory dinner started pouring in. I declined them all. I just wanted to go home.

The moment I pulled my car door open, a sharp pain shot through the back of my neck. A large hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me backward. My struggles were useless. I was hauled into a dark, dusty utility closet.

BANG. The door was locked.

I was tied to a cold metal chair, unable to move. An old, flickering lightbulb hung from the ceiling. In the shifting light, a familiar silhouette emerged.

Marcus. My husband.