Page 71 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
And the wordespionagehanging in the air like a curse.
“An external advisory has notified the oversight committee that recent data breaches—which, at present, remain unverified—have traced unofficially back to…”
His voice softens — ever polite, ever measured — “…a consultant associated with CY8.”
There’s silence.
Not the kind that waits to be filled.
The kind that suffocates.
He doesn’t sayGrau.
He doesn’t have to.
Everyone hearsGrau.
The board members shift in their seats — a nervous rustling, like dry leaves skittering over marble.
I feel my stomach tighten, my pulse hammering like a drill.
A wave of heat ripples across my skin — from the base of my neck down to my stomach — and for a moment I can’t breathe.
I don’t know what hit me first:
The accusation?
The implied betrayal?
Or the way it feels like someone just struck the cornerstone out from under everything I’ve built?
“One of our research divisions,” Tidball continues, unblinking, “was flagged for unauthorized data transmission. An internal audit suggests interference consistent with signatures linked to…”
He pauses — ever so gently — andthere it iswithout saying the word.
Grau.
I hear murmurs — too soft to catch exact phrases, but charged with enough fear and uncertainty to taste on my tongue:
“…incompetence…”
“…reputation risk…”
“…editorial liabilities…”
Dr. Foster sits off to one side, arms crossed, white noise cranked up in his expression.
I can almost feel his thoughts through the air between us — measured, clinical, ready to bolt for safer returns.
Not ally.
Observer.
I swallow, throat dry, heartbeat threatening to crack ribs.
“Ms. Greenfield,” Tidball says, lowering his gaze politely, “this is… regrettable. We understand your loyalty to your consultant, but the circumstances merit caution.”
Caution.
