Page 199 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Precursor suppression records.

I swallow.

These are dangerous too, but in a different way. They show the lies. The curated myths. The decisions to bury, soften, translate, sanctify. If released raw, they could ignite outrage across every civilization that ever built sacred identity on Precursor influence. But if erased, we become the next liars in the chain.

Ghar’s hand settles at my back. “This should survive.”

I glance at him.

Pain still haunts his face, but his eyes are steady. Not unhurt. Not restored. Steady.

“Your people could suffer from it,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Your priests would call it an attack.”

“Yes.”

“Your military could fracture.”

“Perhaps.” His jaw flexes. “But the record of why lies were built must survive. Without it, future stewards inherit conclusions without the cost of them. That invites arrogance.”

Rolaev says softly, “He is right.”

I look between them, astonished by the fact that they have agreed twice in under five minutes and the chamber has not exploded from the social impossibility of it.

“Precursor suppression records preserved,” I say. “But restricted. Contextualized. No broad release authority without multi-species review.”

Brakk snorts. “Ah, good. Committees. That will slow it down for centuries.”

“That is the first comforting thing anyone has said,” I mutter.

The archive accepts.

The next layer opens.

Jalshagar emergence data.

Ghar’s hand stills against my back.

I feel him stop breathing.

This one is not only historical. It is personal. The data includes biological emergence, cross-species recognition patterns, neurological and quantum-adjacent bonding phenomena, Pi’Rell reproductive reliance, cultural mythologization, and records of how the Precursors chose to frame soul bonds as sacred destiny in certain civilizations because people honored them better when they believed the universe did too.

I want to seal it immediately to spare him.

That instinct scares me.

Protection can become suppression very quickly when dressed in love.

“Ghar,” I say.

His voice is rough. “Preserve it.”

I turn fully. “Are you sure?”

“No.” He looks at the floating data, then at me. “But I do not want future bonds to be owned by lies or stripped by cynicism. Preserve enough for understanding. Seal enough to prevent exploitation.”