Page 6 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir

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They come through like a bad dream on parade—six armored figures, jaws gleaming, shoulders broad enough to block out light. They move like tanks taught ballet.

The air goes dead.

My pulse skitters. I stare hard at the screen. Act casual, I think. You’re just a girl at a terminal. Not a threat. Not a witness.

But I smell the blood. Hear the thud of boots on a childhood floor. Feel the dark closet walls pressing in. See Dad’s hand on the ground—open, empty, still.

“Hey.” Tavi’s voice snaps me out of it.

I blink.

“Leah. You okay?”

“Peachy,” I lie. My voice is steady, even if my guts are curling into knots.

“Want me to?—”

“No.” I swallow. “They’re just walking through.”

Which they do. Slowly. Surveying the station like they already own it and we’re just bacteria waiting for the sanitation cycle.

One turns slightly. I feel its gaze slide over me like ice.

Then they pass.

The moment breaks.

But I’m still cold.

I dive backinto work like it owes me something.

Cargo throughput is lagging—again. The system shows a backup at Dock 4, but the numbers don’t match the activity.

Weird.

I dig deeper.

Ping.

Then again.

Too regular. Not spiky like system lag. Not sloppy like glitching drones. This is neat. Intentional.

Someone’s scanning traffic.

I launch a shadow diagnostic, one of the old ones from my rebel-aunt-who-doesn’t-exist. It snakes through the routing paths and lights up three nodes.

Someone’s watching the watchers.

Or more accurately—someone’s watching me.

And not the usual security scum either. This pattern’s too careful. Too polite.

Paranoia wraps itself around my spine like a scarf made of razor wire. I shut down the terminal with a flick and slide off my stool.

Ando looks up.

“Off early?”

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