Page 15 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
She points to the map. “At this hour, delivery bots hit that corridor from both ends, and sometimes the timers aren’t in sync. You’re assuming a thirty-second buffer for the scan loop reset. That’s optimistic.”
I study the map again.
She’s right.
And not just because she’s worked this station longer—her spatial logic’s sharper than expected. She sees the gaps, the human irregularities the Alliance’s clean algorithms gloss over.
“Adjust the entry point,” she says. “Fifteen meters west. There’s a broken floor anchor near the power core junction. Bots reroute around it. That gives us a natural slow zone.”
I mark it.
“Not bad.”
She shrugs. “You’re not the only one who watches.”
I walk her through surveillance deflection—low-profile clothing, ambient interference devices, signal noise tricks. I show her how to spoof node queries and run a shell loop that makes it look like she’s doing maintenance diagnostics.
She listens, quiet and steady.
Occasionally, she cuts in.
“So, if the query echo bounces back?”
“Don’t acknowledge it. Reroute it to terminal 4-C. It loops live freight traffic for ten hours. Buries the signal.”
“And if the kiosk boots early?”
I meet her gaze. “Then we run.”
Her jaw flexes.
“Comforting.”
During prep, I find myself checking with her more than I intend to.
Not for permission. For input. Confirmation. Clarity.
Which is stupid.
I’ve led three-man black ops into volcanic systems mid-eruption. I don’t need a civilian’s nod to plan a damn diagnostic intercept.
But there’s something about the way she moves through this—unflinching, precise—that makes it easier to listen than explain.
There’s no flailing. No panic. No useless bravado.
She justis.
And the silence between us feels... functional. Not tense. Not awkward. Just two people tuned to the same channel.
Too tuned.
The waitress—a half-functional mech with a flickering neck plate—drops off two mugs of sludge-thick coffee. I don’t touch mine. Leah takes a sip and grimaces.
“I’ve had worse,” she says.
“Liar.”
She smirks.
