Page 103 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Brakk raises the fusion cutter. “Well, that’s creepy.”

The woman looks toward him next. “Brakk of the Fratvoyan contract guilds, formerly bonded to three salvage crews, one smuggling concern, and an independent courier collective that expelled you for falsifying fuel tolerances during a tariff dispute.”

Brakk’s ears flatten. “Those tolerances were spiritually accurate.”

I breathe. “You’re Rolaev .”

The projection inclines its head. “Priestess Rolaev , to those who require titles. The Voice of Silence, to those who prefer theatrics. Rolaev will suffice between us, Anita. Titles often become barriers when truth needs a clean path.”

Ghar steps slightly in front of me. “Where is Sira-Vel?”

“Alive,” Rolaev replies.

Brakk snarls. “That was not an answer.”

“It was the only answer useful to you at this moment.”

I move around Ghar before he can stop me. My knees feel unsteady, but anger does enough work to keep me upright. “If you hurt her, I will dedicate the rest of my career to making your sect look like cowards with a branding problem.”

Rolaev ’s eyes settle on me with unsettling calm. “Your career ended when you activated the archive. You may yet have a future, but it will not resemble the life you imagined.”

“I am not in the mood for cult recruitment.”

“Good,” Rolaev says. “Recruitment is for the uncertain. I am speaking to you because you are already certain enough to be dangerous.”

The words slide under my skin.

Ghar’s voice hardens beside me. “This conversation ends now.”

Rolaev glances toward him. “You may destroy the transmitter. Others will awaken. The lower systems carry resonance more efficiently than your weapons carry heat. I chose this moment because your companion has been removed from immediate harm, your pursuers are repositioning, and Anita’s mind is still open enough to hear what pride would later reject.”

Brakk looks toward me, his mouth twisting. “I hate that she sounds like she has office hours.”

“Shut up,” I whisper, though I do not mean it cruelly.

Rolaev ’s projection flickers, then steadies. “You accessed a fragment referencing playful creation cycles.”

My stomach tightens.

Ghar turns his head slightly toward me, and I can feel the question in the movement. How does she know?

Rolaev answers without being asked. “Because I uncovered related fragments thirty-one standard years ago in a dead archive beneath the Coalition border moon of Sel Aris. The site was smaller than Nareth-Kul, less intact, and far less cooperative. Even so, it showed me enough.”

I cross my arms tightly. “Enough to start murdering archaeologists?”

“Enough to stop thinking of discovery as automatically virtuous.”

“That’s convenient.”

“No,” Rolaev says, and, something like fatigue crosses her face. “Convenient truths flatter the person who finds them. This one did not flatter me.”

Ghar keeps his weapon pointed at the projection. “You expect us to believe you found proof decades ago and chose mass murder out of civic responsibility?”

“I expect nothing from you, Ghar Vek’Talan,” Rolaev replies. “Your life has been shaped by institutions that called violence necessary before teaching you to feel ashamed of how well you performed it. I do not need your belief. I need Anita’s attention.”

My skin prickles.

Ghar does not move, but the corridor seems to grow smaller around his silence.