Page 108 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
She listens. Doesn’t interrupt.
In return, she gives me pieces—carefully. Contraband grief. One sliver at a time. Her voice cracks when she mentions her sister. She doesn’t name what came after. I don’t press.
We start to remember things together. Not the pain—just the edges of it.
The little pieces no one else would know.
The way she used to sneak coffee rations out of medbay and stash them in old diagnostic shells. The way I used to touch the back of her hand before every patrol check, like it was the last thing grounding me.
She remembers too.
I can see it in the way her mouth curves, even when she’s trying not to.
We don’t say what we’re really thinking.
But the silence between us stops being weaponized.
It starts beingfamiliar.
“I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me,” I say, eventually.
“I haven’t,” she replies.
And yet she hasn’t closed the door either.
I nod. “Fair.”
Her gaze flicks to the side again. Just a half-second.
But I catch it.
I feel the change in her stance.
Still guarding the hallway.
Still keeping something just out of sight.
And I know, in my bones, there’s more to this than what she’s saying.
But I won’t ask.
Not yet.
I already chose silence once. This time, I’ll choose patience.
No matter what it costs.
I decide I won’t hold secrets between us. She doesn’t ask what I’m still hiding.
But I know it’s time to say it.
The longer I wait, the more it festers, and the last thing we need is another silence loaded with betrayal. So I draw a breath that burns on the way down, then let the words drop into the air like live ammunition.
“They sent me to kill you.”
Leah freezes.
Not the kind of freeze that comes from surprise—this one’s more primal. Her breath doesn’t catch. Her arms don’t flinch. Her eyes stay locked on mine. But I can feel the shift beneath her skin, like the way animals go perfectly still before they bolt.
