Page 44 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
And we can’t afford that.
Not now.
Not with the Ataxians moving closer.
Not with this mission on the edge of going hot.
Not with her sitting ten feet away from me, rewiring the gravity of my focus without saying a damn word.
So I clamp down.
Hard.
And pray it holds.
CHAPTER 14
LEAH
The rhythm used to help. The pulse of sensors blinking in predictable patterns. The way the hum of the power core rose and fell with the ambient systems. The steady trickle of data across my screen like rain on a rooftop. It gave the day structure. I clung to that.
Now it feels like a trap. Like the quiet's pressing in from all sides, trying to map the shape of my weaknesses.
There’s nothingwrong. That’s what makes it worse.
No breaches. No red pings. Just hours of nothing, stacked like corpses.
The shadows have moods now. The console screen flickers like it’s breathing. I hear sounds that don’t exist—shifts in the pipes, whispers of recycled air that sound almost human. I think I’m starting to hallucinate, or maybe I’m just getting familiar with my own unraveling.
Kalev barely speaks.
He’s doing his job. Tightly. Rigidly. Exactly by the book, the way people do when they’re afraid to feel anything at all.
And Igetit. We’ve pushed too close to a line neither of us knows how to walk. I tried to be professional about it. I let himdrift. I let him pull back, thinking maybe he needed that space. Thinking maybe I did, too.
But all it did was make the air heavier.
Now, every breath feels like a weight.
I keep my eyes glued to the terminal, adjusting input streams, shifting relay cycles—mindless recalibration, just to stay busy. I don’t even remember the last time I ate.
A faint pop stutters through the audio sensor feed.
My fingers freeze.
The screen flickers—an abrupt, jittering flash like static crawling over skin—and then the display goesblack.
No power-down sequence. No error warning. Justgone.
All the air leaves my lungs in one tight jolt.
My heartbeat explodes behind my ribs. I can’t move. Can’t blink.
The same cold hits as before—cold that comes from inside, like a broken pipe spewing ice water through my bloodstream. I hear myself gasp, but it doesn’t sound real. Doesn’t sound like me.
The black screen is just a black screen.
But my body is convinced it’s the end.
