Page 217 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy
“So do I.”
His thumb moves over my knuckles. “You are afraid of becoming her. That fear matters.”
“Fear is not a moral credential.”
“No. But neither is confidence. You told them less than the whole truth, and you immediately questioned whether you had the right. Rolaev built a doctrine to prevent questioning herself.”
I swallow hard.
Sira’s voice is soft from the next platform. “You also asked for a review board.”
“A very slow committee,” Brakk adds. “Tragically ethical.”
“I still controlled the first version,” I say.
“Yes,” Sira says. “Because someone had to prevent panic before procedure existed. That cannot become permanent. You know that. We know that. So we build safeguards around you, not a throne beneath you.”
The word throne makes my stomach turn.
“No thrones,” I say.
Ghar’s eyes warm. “No thrones.”
Brakk raises his hand again. “Can we also agree on no more underground archives?”
“No,” I say automatically.
He groans. “She’s already relapsing.”
“I mean, maybe fewer underground archives.”
“Progress,” Sira says faintly.
The medic finally loses patience. “If this philosophical conference could pause, Security Contractor Vek’Talan requires rib stabilization, burn treatment, and internal bleeding management.”
I stare at Ghar. “Internal bleeding?”
He gives me a calm look that does nothing for my blood pressure. “Minor.”
The medic’s face goes tight. “Not minor.”
“Ghar.”
“I was going to mention it.”
“When? In your obituary?”
“That would be late.”
Brakk points at him. “That is exactly the kind of dry nonsense she uses. You two are getting worse together.”
“Good,” I say, too quickly.
The word hangs there.
Ghar’s expression softens, and everything inside me goes painfully tender. The med-bay, the guards, the shard, the lie, the dead world, all of it remains. But his hand is around mine, and he is alive, and I am sitting beside him with the first fragile version of our future breathing between us.
The medic guides me away gently but firmly. “We need room.”
