Page 95 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy
Sira’s voice softens. “Absurdity does not always indicate falsehood.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“I suspected you might.”
Ghar turns back toward the entrance, and the movement reminds me of the space he has been keeping between us. The kiss sits in the room unspoken, hotter than the machinery and more dangerous than the projection. He has withdrawn since then, not cruelly, not completely, but enough that every step he takes away feels like torture.
I follow him with my eyes despite myself.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
His gaze flicks briefly to my mouth, then away.
The air between us goes tight.
Brakk coughs loudly. “I am going to pretend I did not see that because I am a gentleman and also extremely tired.”
I look away first, cheeks heating. “Fix something.”
“I am attempting to fix the emotional atmosphere, but nobody appreciates my tools.”
A burst of static crackles through the chamber.
Every weapon comes up.
The sound does not come from our comms. It comes from the archive itself, vibrating through the floating script and the ring structures overhead. The Choir’s signal spills into the chamber through the same pathways the ruins use to carry resonance.
A woman’s voice emerges from the distortion, calm, low, and amplified across the ancient systems.
“Contaminated witnesses carrying suppressed archive material, this is the Choir of Revelation. You remain within a sealed lower system with limited exits. Continued resistance increases unnecessary suffering.”
Ghar’s entire body goes still.
Sira closes the archive case halfway, dimming the projection.
The voice continues with terrible composure. “Relinquish the fragments. Submit to witness containment. Those who surrender the archive will be granted silence without torment.”
Brakk’s mouth twists. “Well, there’s a sales pitch.”
My hands go cold.
The voice shifts subtly, as if the speaker now addresses me directly. “Anita Prentiss, your curiosity has already caused avoidable death. The engineer Teren Ikkev is only the first consequence of disclosure without wisdom.”
The chamber tilts beneath my feet, though I know it does not move.
Ghar turns toward me instantly. “Do not listen.”
The broadcast continues. “The truth you carry has broken colonies, dissolved families, toppled successor faiths, and turned scholars into arsonists of civilization. You mistake exposure for virtue because academia rewards discovery more than stewardship.”
My throat tightens.
Because the words are monstrous.
Because they are manipulative.
Because they are aimed with precision.
