Zayn’s eyes snapped open. “I am not emotional.”
Samson didn’t challenge the lie, which somehow made it worse.
“Whatever you decide next,” Samson continued, “will determine whether this ends in a controlled solution… or a complete disaster. Please, sir. Tread carefully and let the girl go.”
The call ended, the screen fading to black in Zayn’s hand.
For a long moment, he remained still, staring at the reflection of moonlight on the floor, replaying every word.
Samson was right — he was playing with fire. But what Samson could never truly understand was that Zayn had already passed the point of caution.
The damage was already done, so at least he should get what he intended all this time.
He needed Lena Pearson neutralized, contained, prevented from ever approaching his father again.
