Page 60 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“Explain,” I say.
“We’ve traced it back through intermediary servers,” she continues. “The signatures there intersect with your known presence at Division 7 facilities.”
I breathe in.
Slow.
Controlled.
But inside, the fire flares.
I’m not accused — not yet — but the insinuation is there.
Not just of espionage — but of guilt by proximity.
“Are you suggesting,” I say, eyes locked on hers, “that I would sabotage researchI was not contracted for?”
She glances down at her data pad — just long enough for me to see the slightest tremor in her posture.
“This is not a conclusion,” she says, voice trembling slightly, “just correlation along documented signatures.”
Correlation.
Not causation.
The difference between accusation and character assassination.
Silence spreads like ice on water.
Then another voice chimes in — the one everyone usually listens to a little too quickly:
“Yara’s in a difficult position already,” Tidball says, entering the room behind me with that polished confidence that makes half of these executives exhale in relief. “If there’s evenperceptionof internal oversight failure — especially involving someone like Mr. Grau — we must proceed with caution.”
Caution.
Meaning:We pin this on him and move on.
My jaw tightens.
Not outwardly.
Not in a visible way.
But inside — something shifts like tectonic plates catching.
I clasp my hands behind my back so no one sees my fingers twitch.
“Ms. Greenfield,” I say — using Yara’s surname because this isn’t social anymore — “if what you have is correlation, then you lack a motive.”
Tidball’s expression flickers.
Just a microsecond.
But I saw it.
Too refined a smile.
Too measured a demeanor.
