Page 22 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

“Oh, wow,” he says softly.

“Do not start.”

“You looked at him like you were trying to solve advanced equations with your face.”

“I looked at him normally.”

“That was not normal.”

“That was extremely normal.”

Sira studies me with calm, ancient patience. “You are distressed.”

“I am annoyed.”

“You are both.”

“I liked you better before you started psychoanalyzing me by moonlight.”

“I have never stopped.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

Outside the tent, Ghar says something to the contractors and begins walking toward the western terraces again. Every instinct I possess notices the direction automatically.

I hate this.

I hate that awareness of him moves through me before conscious thought catches up. I hate that my body registers his presence with immediate precision even inside crowded spaces. I hate that part of me relaxes whenever he enters a room, despite the fact that he also increases my blood pressure enough to qualify as a medical event.

Worst of all, I hate that he looked just as unsettled by the bond as I feel.

That would be easier to dismiss if he acted triumphant about it. If he strutted around like some smug Vakutan destiny priest claiming the Precursors hand-delivered me into his lap. Instead, he looks at me like the universe has handed him live explosives and politely requested he carry them across a minefield.

Which means he is either deeply sincere or an extraordinarily sophisticated manipulator.

Unfortunately, my instincts say sincere.

I despise my instincts.

Sira touches the projection controls lightly. “The nested symbol structures resemble recursive proto-formation language.”

“That phrase still sounds fake.”

“Many true things sound fake before they become textbooks.”

Teren points at the glowing inscription. “What keeps bothering me is the wording.”

“Children shaped after the First Architects,” I murmur.

“Yeah. That.” He rubs both hands over his face. “That doesn’t sound like mythology. Mythology usually wants grandeur. This sounds…technical.”

Sira nods once. “Agreed.”

I zoom the symbol cluster inward until microscopic geometric variations become visible. Tiny line breaks. Embedded repetition markers. Directional emphasis encoded through depth layering rather than sentence structure.

My pulse quickens.

“Oh,” I whisper.