Page 150 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Her fingers slide into mine.

The bond answers, deep and immediate, not with command but with ache. I study it inwardly as I would study an unfamiliar weapon placed in my palm. There is the pull, yes. The old certainty. The brutal recognition that marked her as mine before I knew her favorite insults, before I learned that she chews her lip when translating under pressure, before I heard her laugh at terror because surrender offends her.

But beneath the bond, or perhaps beside it, there is memory.

Anita in the western fracture zone, furious and brilliant, calling a hazard gate judgmental. Anita shaking after the first archive and still demanding one more scan. Anita arguing with Rolaev through fear because surrendering truth to murder was worse than danger. Anita leaning into my touch when she was too tired to keep pretending she needed no one. Anita holding my hand in the final archive when every god I had left fell silent.

Those moments were not given to me by destiny.

I was there.

She was there.

We made them by surviving.

My breath catches.

Anita notices immediately. “What?”

“I do not know.”

“That is okay. We have established that nobody knows anything. Very freeing in a horrible way.”

I look down at our joined hands. Her fingers are almost swallowed by mine, but her grip is steady. “The bond drew me to you.”

“Yes.”

“I cannot deny that.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“But it did not make you mock Merrow in the shuttle yard.”

Her brows pull together. “No, that was my own extremely refined personality.”

“It did not make you brave when the Choir attacked.”

“I was terrified.”

“Bravery without fear is only momentum.”

Her eyes search mine.

“It did not make you argue with me when I was wrong,” I say. “It did not make you comfort Sira. It did not make you grieve Teren. It did not make you turn away from releasing the archive when you realized truth could harm people.”

Anita’s lips part, and no joke emerges.

I hold her hand more tightly. “The bond may have begun the recognition. It did not create everything I know of you.”

Her face changes slowly, hope arriving with caution because neither of us trusts easy hope anymore. “Ghar.”

“I care for you because you are infuriating.”

A small laugh escapes her, wet and startled. “Strong start.”

“Because you are honest when honesty costs you pride. Because you are frightened and still move toward responsibility. Because you tear open mysteries, then bleed when you realize there are people on the other side. Because you do not worship truth. You wrestle with it.”

Her eyes fill. “That was dangerously close to romantic.”