Page 47 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
But the word doesn’t mean good.
The tension pinches between us like a cord pulled too tight.
I look down at my hands — large, scarred, steady in appearance, but not in feeling.
“Yara,” I say slowly, choosing my words with more care than I choose most battles, “you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
She laughs — soft, hollow, like someone laughing at a distant thunderstorm.
“I haven’t,” she says. “But I have to keep it together.”
Her eyes flick to the comm unit at her wrist — a blinking red notification begging for attention.
And suddenly, it’s not just exhaustion I see in her eyes.
It’s pressure.
Unrelenting. Invisible. Constant.
“Another crisis?” I ask.
She shrugs, but the gesture is tired.
“Supply chain glitch,” she mutters. “Or something called that. A data leak, maybe. Tidball says it’s minor, that we’re overreacting.”
Her voice grows quieter as she speaks, like each word takes effort.
I watch her struggle to breathe through the tension, and inside something snaps.
Not rage.
Not violence.
Just nearness.
And a promise I didn’t know I was making.
“Let me see it,” I say.
She doesn’t jump. She doesn’t recoil.
But I see the hesitation — a flicker in her expression, a thing unspoken.
“I can’t ask you to fix my company,” she says after a beat.
“No,” I say. “You asked me to stay out of it. And I respected that.”
I reach out — slow, respectful — and touch her wrist.
Not commanding.
Not pushing.
Just steadying.
Her skin is warm.
Her pulse is rapid, like she’s running silent code in her veins.
