Page 85 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
She exhales through her nose.
“You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“That hurts most people.”
“They never liked me anyway.”
She studies me for a long beat.
“Who extracted your partner from Spuel?”
“No one.”
“Who arranged her safe passage?”
“No one.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“No,” I say. “I expect you to keep asking.”
She straightens.
“Fine.”
She taps the console again.
Electricity blooms down my spine like a fist inside my nervous system, white and blinding, every muscle seizing at once. My teeth slam together hard enough that sparks dance in my vision.
I grunt, breath tearing out of me in a sound that isn’t human.
It cuts off.
I sag forward against the restraints, sweat already slicking my ribs.
“Try again,” she says calmly. “Who helped her?”
I swallow, jaw tight.
“No one.”
Another shock.
Longer this time.
My vision goes dark at the edges.
When it stops, my breathing is ragged and loud in the too-quiet room.
She crouches in front of me, eyes level with mine.
“You care about her,” she says softly. “That makes you predictable.”
I meet her gaze.
“Then predict this,” I rasp. “I’m not talking.”
