Page 70 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
She knew something. Not what—but something.
And that’s a conversation for later. If we get later.
My boot hits a loose pipe, and the clatter echoes like gunfire.
We freeze.
Nothing follows.
Leah exhales.
“Once we’re out,” she says, “I want answers.”
“You’ll have them.”
“Promise?”
“On my last breath.”
As we reach the tunnel mouth, I see it—the shimmer of thermal detection mesh strung across the exit.
A trap.
I yank Leah back, hard.
“They’re covering every escape. How the hell did they?—?”
I know the answer before she says it.
“They knew we’d use the backups. This was always about containment.”
“And denial.”
She nods. “Dead agents don’t leak lies.”
“We’re not dying in this pit.”
I pop the last two explosives from my rig. Leah watches, eyes wide.
“This’ll drop the ceiling.”
“What if it collapses the entire line?”
“Then we make a new exit.”
“And if we don’t?”
I meet her gaze.
“Then I’ll hold the ceiling up myself.”
We set the charges, backtrack thirty meters.
The blast is thunder and earth and heat.
The world shudders.
Light pours through the broken strata above—dust-choked, golden.
