Page 73 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
Always glass. Always something.
His mouth moves.
The pod’s audio channel crackles to life.
“Leah,” he says softly.
I sob. Just once. It tears out of me, ugly and animal and humiliating.
“You don’t get to do this,” I whisper. “You don’t get to leave me.”
His jaw tightens.
“I’m not leaving you,” he says. “I’m staying so you can go.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”
The pod begins its countdown.
EVAC TRAJECTORY LOCKED. T-MINUS 30 SECONDS.
My pulse roars in my ears.
“Kalev, please,” I choke. “I can still move. I can still shoot. I can?—”
He cuts me off, voice suddenly sharp.
“You can’t run. And you won’t leave me behind.”
The truth of it hits like a blow to the sternum.
“You bastard,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”
Behind him, at the far end of the corridor, shadows shift.
Movement.
Armed figures pour into the blown-out service bay—Coalition gear, League markings, rifles already up.
They fan out fast.
Professional.
Efficient.
Too many.
My blood turns to ice.
“Kalev,” I whisper. “They’re behind you.”
“I know.”
