Page 61 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Like a man who knows exactly how to close a tight wound and open a new one without leaving a mark.
I don’t flinch.
I look at him — inches of polished glass between us — and the air feels thick with things unsaid.
“There’s no motive,” I say. “Not from me. Not from anyone on my team. I was not contracted for this research. I was not even briefed on Division 7’s core programs until after this so-called breach was flagged.”
Board members murmur, back-and-forth, like animals startled by thunder.
I taste anticipation — sharp, metallic, like a blade sharpened against bone.
And then someone coughs — nervous, high-pitched — and points to the sequence on the holo display.
“There,” he says. “The chain of access — it matches your signature, Mr. Grau.”
I step toward the display.
I inhale the air — cool, sterile, like this whole room is trying too hard to appear safe.
I look at the data stream.
And I recognize the pattern.
It’s not random.
It’sforced.
Like when someone says, “Use your pattern here” and thenplants it.
Like sewing someone else’s footprints into the snow.
And I don’t need to check logs.
I don’t need to parse metadata.
Iknow.
I turn.
Look directly at Tidball.
Not accusingly.
Not angrily.
Just like a man standing in the truth.
“Tell me something,” I say slowly. “How many times have you visited Division 7 in the last cycle?”
His eyes don’t widen.
But his smile fades — just slightly — like a candle caught in a draft.
“Grau,” he says, voice smooth, “I don’t see what this has to do?—”
“Oh, I think it haseverythingto do with it,” I interrupt.
Because I see it now — the trail of breadcrumbs, the intermediary relays, the shell companies feeding data logs into the corporate backbone like veins irrigating a poisoned heart.
