Page 183 of Red Scale Daddy
Us.
It is inefficient. It complicates risk. It multiplies failure points and emotional exposure. It also feels like the first honest equation I have written since I was twelve years old.
Throgg turns from the display. “You will work in engineering under guard. If your father appears and you warn him, I will know.”
“If I wanted to warn him obviously, I would have done it already.”
“Obviously,” he repeats.
“I am better than that.”
His expression warms by a degree that carries no comfort. “Yes. That is what concerns me.”
“Then assign smarter guards.”
“I did.”
Two Reapers step forward.
I recognize one from the airlock.
The memory of Dux being dragged backward into the chamber flashes behind my eyes with such force that the command deck tilts for half a second. His blood on the deck. His hand on the glass. The ridiculous attempt at a grin he gave me while death opened behind him.
My hands remain still.
Throgg watches.
I meet his gaze because looking away would cost more.
“If your father is recovered,” he says, “you will persuade him to cooperate.”
“Yes.”
“And if he refuses?”
“He will not refuse me.”
“That is confidence.”
“That is my father.”
“And if the Vakutan lives?”
The room fades down to that single question.
I think of Dux laughing with blood on his teeth. Dux standing between me and the drones. Dux putting his hand over the controls because he cared more about my survival than my permission. Dux disappearing into the core.
If he is alive, he is coming.
If he is coming, Throgg will try to kill him again.
If Throgg tries, I will stop him.
The certainty arrives quietly, without drama, settling deeper than fear.
“If he lives,” I say, “you should hope he does not reach your ship angry.”
Throgg laughs once, low and genuine. “You care for him.”
