Page 140 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
That startles him.
Just a flicker, but it’s there.
He recovers fast. “Eventually, maybe. But you’re more useful as leverage. For now.”
I lean forward. “You touch my son, I will gut you with a plastic spoon.”
His brow lifts like I’ve amused him.
He stands.
“Rest,” he says. “This room is yours for now. We’ll speak again.”
When the door shuts, I don’t move.
Not for a long time.
Then, slowly, I scan.
Vent. Two screws missing.
Table: bolted.
Chair: foam-sealed. No tools.
Corners: no cameras I can see.
I check every tile in the floor. One wobbles slightly when I press it.
I mark it.
Then I sit.
Back straight. Breaths shallow.
And I wait.
The guards change every six hours. I clock them by boot tread and cadence. One walks heavy. One has a limp. The third hums tunelessly. He’s the weakest. Young. Nervous.
I ask for food once. Water twice.
They oblige with blank faces.
I thank them like I’m compliant.
Like I’m breaking.
Every time they come, I memorize something.
A badge color. A hand tattoo. The scrape of keycards.
Kalev once told me the trick wasn’t learning to fight. It was learning tonotice.
“Notice fast enough, and you don’t need to fight.”
So I notice.
Everything.
