Page 17 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
Instead, I’m memorizing.
Leah clears her throat.
“Okay,” she says. “We do this clean. No improvising unless it’s life or death.”
“Agreed.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“I’ll get you out.”
Her eyes flash. “No.Wegetusout.”
That lands.
Harder than I expect.
I nod. “We get us out.”
She nods once. Final.
And stands.
I follow her outside, the air thick with station humidity and the low hum of transit lines kicking into evening cycle.
She doesn’t say goodbye.
Doesn’t look back.
She just walks.
And I let her.
But the heat that coils behind my ribs isn’t the kind you walk off.
And I know, as sure as I know how to dismantle a surveillance rig in under thirty seconds, that I’m in trouble.
Because the more efficient this partnership becomes?
The more visible we are.
And the more visible we are?
The closer we get to becoming a liability neither side can afford to protect.
CHAPTER 6
LEAH
I’ve had nightmares like this.
Narrow corridor. Harsh light. Dead air. Boots in the distance.
The only difference is I’m not nine this time, and there’s no closet to hide in.
Not that hiding worked, anyway.
I press my shoulder against the bulkhead, heartbeat doing double-time under my ribs. The corridor's just wide enough for two bodies to pass without brushing—if one of them doesn’t breathe.
