Page 215 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

“I am saying no unfiltered origin sequence survived in transferable form.”

That is technically true.

Technically true is the coward’s cousin of honest.

It is also all I have.

Sira’s voice enters gently. “The archive’s primary records sealed during the collapse. The surviving shard contains contextual fragments, restricted warnings, and partial historical evidence. It should not be treated as a complete data cache.”

Merrow turns toward her. “You expect us to accept that?”

Brakk coughs. “No, she expects you to understand it. That may have been optimistic.”

The Alzhon officer looks at the case. “We still need possession.”

“No,” I say.

The word comes easier this time.

Merrow’s eyes flash. “You are obstructing an emergency investigation.”

“I am preventing a second disaster.”

“You are a graduate student.”

“I am the only surviving access holder recognized by the archive, and unless you would like to test whether forcibly removing the shard triggers whatever is left of its defensive protocols, I suggest you let the medics do their jobs while your superiors find someone with enough imagination to understand the word restraint.”

The gray-haired officer’s expression flickers.

Good. Fear is not ideal, but it is a functional placeholder for patience.

Ghar’s hand brushes mine. Not visible to the officials. Just enough.

The officer nods once. “The artifact remains with you temporarily under guard. No external transmission. No private access. We convene a provisional review board within twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours is too soon,” Sira says.

“It is what I can give you.”

I incline my head. “Then I suggest the board include League, Alliance, Pi’Rell, human academic, and nonaligned representatives.”

Merrow nearly chokes. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” I say. “The last time one institution tried to control this truth, people died.”

Rolaev ’s shadow passes through my memory.

The officer hears something in my voice. “We will discuss representation.”

“That means no,” Brakk says.

“It means I heard her,” the officer replies.

Merrow looks furious enough to chew through his own credentials, but he says nothing as the officers withdraw. Two guards remain near the door, careful not to stare too openly at the case.

The med-bay noise returns slowly.

Scanners hum. Medics murmur. Somewhere a pressure valve hisses. Brakk lets out a long breath and sags back onto his platform.