Page 52 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz

---

The room chimes — not loudly, just a tiny shotgun blast of notification from the comm nestled on the table.

It’s Foster’s assistant — something in her voice too clipped, too urgent.

“Dr. Foster,” she says, “we’ve just received word from CY8 production logs. There’s been another breach — security traces it to unverified access. It matches the signature patterns flagged earlier.”

My stomach flips.

Because Ialreadyknew.

And now Fosterusesit.

He doesn’t slam his fist down. He doesn’t shout.

He smiles.

Calm as a summer pond.

“Well,” he says, “another reason to proceed with urgency.”

I want to pound my fist through the glass and send shards dancing across the marbled floor.

This isn’t negotiation.

This is coercion wrapped in charity.

Tidball leans forward, eyes placid.

“This confirms our concerns,” he says. “We need to show decisiveness.”

I can feel my pulse in my throat.

I want to say:

The breach isn’t his.

Throwing him under the bus will ruin you.

The logs are manipulated.

But my throat is dry, and the words stick like half-formed thoughts caught on barbed wire.

I look at Foster — his posture perfect, his expression gliding between concern and corporate advantage — and my stomach twists.

“Then we proceed carefully,” I say slowly, “but not at the price of our future.”

Foster nods.

Like I just signed away something sacred.

Inside, I feel like I did.

I leave the table — not storming, not shouting, just stepping away with a calm surface and hurricane under it.

In the corridor, the air is fluorescent and hollow.

I can still hear Tidball behind me, murmuring gentle reminders about optics and reputation.

But I am not listening.

---