Page 111 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

I finish. “I cannot lose you. I do not care destiny means, and I no longer care what word anyone uses for the bond. If you are dragged through one of those walls like Sira was, something in me will follow whether it is wise or not.”

Anita’s eyes widen, and the anger drains from her face, leaving something softer and far more dangerous.

“You say stuff like that,” she whispers, “and then you wonder why I get confused.”

A grim laugh escapes me. “I am confused as well.”

“Great. At least we’re doing one thing together.”

The corner of Brakk’s mouth twitches. “I would enjoy this tender disaster more if the murder priests were farther away.”

Anita looks toward him, the moment easing just enough to become bearable. “Can you get us into the side gallery?”

Brakk sighs as if he has been asked to carry the planet. “Probably. Maybe. With a little luck, a lot of blasphemy, and someone large punching anyone who objects.”

I look at him. “Plan.”

Brakk crawls closer to the balustrade and points with one stubby claw toward the upper left of the occupied gallery. “See that field emitter near the crooked pillar? The Choir tied their sensor net into it. Bad idea in a ruin that hates being understood. I can overload it with a dirty pulse from the relay tap I gutted, but I need line of sight for maybe six seconds.”

“That emitter feeds the shadow cover,” I say.

“Yep. If it goes blind, their upper watchers lose tracking for a few breaths. Smoke here, pulse there, cutter through that thin wall behind us, and we might drop into the side gallery without them seeing the entry.”

Anita follows his gestures, her focus snapping into place. “That side gallery connects behind Sira’s platform if the geometry hasn’t shifted.”

“If,” Brakk says, glaring at the ruins. “That word is doing a lot of unpaid labor.”

I study the route. The plan is ugly, risky, and dependent on an unstable structure behaving badly in our favor. I have won battles with worse, but not many.

“We need Sira’s collar disabled before extraction,” I say.

Brakk taps the gutted relay. “I can jam the signal for maybe fifteen seconds. After that, the collar either reboots, burns out, or gets offended and kills us all. I am hoping for the middle one.”

Anita looks at the archive case. “Rolaev wants this. We can use it.”

“No,” I say immediately.

She gives me a look. “Do you want to hear the idea before rejecting it?”

“No.”

Brakk lifts one finger. “I kind of want to hear it, though I reserve the right to flee emotionally.”

Anita sets the case carefully on the floor between us. “If we send a brief resonance ping from the case toward the central console, it will draw the technician’s attention and probably trigger Rolaev ’s people to focus on containment. While they look at the archive signature, Brakk blinds the sensor net. Ghar hits the upper watchers. I move through the side gallery and reach Sira.”

“No,” I say again, colder now.

Anita’s jaw sets. “You can’t get to her collar without someone who understands the field interface.”

“You will not be the person exposed on that platform.”

“I’m the only person here who can read the interface fast enough.”

“I can drag Sira out with the collar on.”

“And if Rolaev activates it remotely? If it locks into the ruin field? If it shocks her unconscious while the gallery shifts?” Anita leans forward, her voice fierce and low. “You need me.”

I hate that she is right.