Page 84 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
He smirks. “That’s because you’re polite.”
We pass the chamber with the flickering panel—the one that buzzes like a trapped insect. I catalog it automatically, same as always, noting which lights are out, which stains are new, which doors smell faintly of blood instead of solvent.
Interrogation room three today.
They sit me in the chair, clamp restraints over my shoulders and forearms, snug the collar around my throat until it presses just enough to remind me it’s there.
A woman steps into my line of sight.
Coalition officer. Late forties, maybe. Dark hair pulled tight, uniform immaculate, eyes alert in a way that tells me she doesn’t waste words.
“Kalev,” she says. “You look worse than your file photo.”
“Your file’s outdated,” I say. “Try again.”
She studies my face for a moment, then nods once.
“Fair enough.”
She taps something on the console.
The room temperature drops a few degrees. Not enough to hurt. Enough to distract.
“You know why you’re here,” she says.
“Because you like the sound of your own voice.”
One corner of her mouth lifts.
“I do,” she admits. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
She leans her hip against the table.
“You’re here because the Alliance burned you and the Coalition caught you and neither side is sure what to do with you yet. That makes you… interesting.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
She gestures, and the screen behind her lights up.
Alliance Command insignia.
A familiar female officer appears, posture rigid, eyes flat.
Former operative Kalev has been declared a rogue actor and traitor to Alliance interests. Any actions undertaken by him are unauthorized and unaffiliated with official Alliance operations.
The feed ends.
The screen goes black.
The woman watches my face carefully.
“Thoughts?” she asks.
I shrug as much as the restraints allow.
“Tell her I said hi.”
