Page 94 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
“This is not a joke. The war is over.”
“No. It just moved. Changed shape. Found better PR.”
He steeples his fingers. “Call it what you want. The fact remains—our goals no longer require your imprisonment. You’ve become... an opportunity.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “To who?”
“To peace.”
I bark a laugh. “Peace doesn’t wear boots. It doesn’t carry guns. And it sure as hell doesn’t keep people like me in holes for two years without trial.”
His smile doesn’t change. “The public wants resolution. A story. You’re part of that.”
“So I’m the happy ending?”
“You’re the cautionary tale that ends with mercy.”
He taps something on his slate, and my full profile pops up between us. My file’s been updated. Pictures from raids I don’t remember. Surveillance shots of me holding Leah. One of her holding a baby.
My blood freezes.
Dowron watches me closely. “You see, Kalev, rehabilitation has a narrative arc. We let you out, you thank us. You speak publicly about Alliance restraint. Everyone feels warm inside.”
“And if I don’t play nice?”
His eyes sharpen. “Then your story ends quietly. Somewhere dark.”
He thinks he owns me. He thinks fear is a language I forgot how to speak.
But I’ve been dying slowly for two years. I’ve made peace with darkness. What I haven’t made peace with is silence.
And I won’t die before I see her again.
CHAPTER 30
LEAH
The skies above Glimner have changed.
Not the color—still that impossible turquoise, edged with pearly wisps of cloud that drift like dreams—but the rhythm. Something is off. The air traffic isn’t following its usual lazy circuit. There are more shadows overhead now, faster ones, sharper ones. Not the tourist gliders or cargo skimmers that cut across the horizon like friendly fish.
These are military-grade.
They don’t belong.
Clancy doesn’t notice it. Not yet. He’s down near the coral shallows, building one of his impossible little contraptions—something between a periscope and a fish feeder, if I understood his garbled explanation right. His brow is furrowed in that serious, unbothered way he has when he’s busy. His shoulders are square. His lips move when he’s concentrating. I don’t interrupt him.
Instead, I step back into the house, and I lock the door.
Not because I think a lock will stop what’s coming, but becauseIneed to hear the click. Need to feel that thin, solid moment of separation between me and the things I can’t control.
I’ve spent years building this life—quiet, tucked away, nearly invisible. But invisible doesn’t mean safe. Not anymore.
Not with that sound.
It started two nights ago. The thrum of a low-flyer cutting just above the ridge. It didn’t follow the regulated flight lanes. It didn’t ping its ID. It didn’t hover long enough to be scanning for minerals. It just... passed.
But I know that sound.
