Page 3 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
"Understood, sir," I reply.
"Alliance interests in League space remain a sensitive issue. Your discretion, as always, is appreciated."
I wait. I don’t ask about the civilians. I know how this works.
"Preliminary damage analysis confirms mission efficacy. Local grid collapse will disrupt Coalition resupply for the next fourteen cycles. Exactly the kind of destabilization we needed."
He pauses just long enough for it to be deliberate.
"Civilian interference was... unfortunate. But not mission-critical."
There it is. Glossed. Filed away under acceptable loss.
I look him dead in the eyes. "They weren’t interfering. They were working. Wrong place, wrong time."
Rellin’s smile thins.
"Your compassion is noted, Thorne. But we don’t design missions for moral comfort."
No, they design them for deniability. He doesn’t say it, but we both know it’s true.
"Moving forward," Rellin continues, fingers tapping at a console I can’t see, "you are reassigned effective immediately to Spuel Station."
My stomach clenches tighter than I expected. "Spuel?"
"A logistics anomaly’s been flagged in one of the human enclaves. Shipping discrepancies, minor data inconsistencies, nothing overt. But enough to warrant deeper analysis."
"Human enclave," I repeat, slower this time. "You think it’s a leak?"
"We’re not in the business of thinking, Thorne. We investigate. Discreetly. You’ll embed under diplomatic pretense. No weapons overt. No contact with Coalition interests unless provoked."
He’s talking fast. Too fast.
"You’ll receive a full packet on transit. Standard security detail, local supply authorization, limited compad oversight to prevent flagging."
"Who’s running the enclave?"
"Doesn’t matter. If it’s nothing, you confirm. If it’s something, you root it out. Quietly."
I fold my arms, ignoring the sting in my ribs.
"Political fallout from a civilian-targeted black op on Spuel could?—"
"You won’t be running black ops," he interrupts sharply. "You’ll be observing. That’s all."
Sure. Just like I was “observing” on Jossan Prime. And Gahl Three. And Velos Drift.
"Thorne," Rellin adds, softer now, "you’re our best asset for this kind of work. You blend. You disappear. And you don’t get emotionally involved."
I don’t answer. He takes silence as agreement.
"Good. Shuttle departs in two hours, secondary dock at Sector A9. Try not to make a scene."
The holo field collapses.
And just like that, I’m alone again. The cold cuts deeper without the false light of Command in my eyes.
I lean back against the pylon. My breath ghosts into the air, curling like smoke. For a second, I let my eyes fall shut.
