Page 29 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me. If I’m risking my ass for intergalactic stability, you’re buying.”
“I’m the Alliance operative. You’re the one with a forged name and a burner comm. You’re supposed to payme.”
“Too late. You already promoted me. I’m practically your coworker now.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You like that about me.”
I don’t argue.
The air between us shifts again. Not tension. Not ease either. Just awareness. Her gaze slips over my shoulder, then down—pauses on my chest, my arms, back up to my face. Not subtle. But not coy either.
I step back first.
“Get some rest,” I tell her. “We deploy in twelve.”
“Same hideous hour?”
“Of course.”
She rolls her eyes. “You Vakutan boys really know how to treat a girl.”
And then she’s gone.
I sit down in the silence she leaves behind and pretend I’m not already rerunning every word she just said. Pretend I’m not mapping escape routes that only work if I make sure she gets out first. Pretend I’m not already compromised.
Command wants results.
They’ll get them.
But I’m not sacrificing her to do it.
This op runs through me.
And if it burns?—
I burn first.
CHAPTER 10
LEAH
The floor groans under my boots as I descend into the dark.
It’s not a scream, not a warning—just the tired bones of Spuel muttering like an old man who's seen too much and didn’t want to be woken up today. Same, honestly. The hatch hisses shut above me, sealing out the world with a sigh that feels... final.
And just like that, I’m committed.
No halfway. No exit signs glowing faint red in the periphery. Just me, Kalev, and a month of surveillance shifts in a stolen corner of the station so deep it might as well have been exiled.
The hideout’s more bunker than base: carved out from under an abandoned coolant exchanger, half the panels repurposed from scavenged med bays and forgotten cargo bays. It smells like old wires, antifreeze, and something almost medicinal—like the ghosts of hospitals past.
I step in, shoulder brushing a low conduit, and he’s already there. Quiet in that way that makes you think he hasn’t moved, but you know better. Kalev doesn’t do idle.
His back’s to me, crouched low by the terminal bank. His armor’s stripped down to the base layers, dark shirt clinging to muscle in a way I try not to look at for too long. The nape ofhis neck is bare. Scales like faint ridges catching the amber light from the console readouts.
