Page 246 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

A few board members exchange glances.

I keep going before cowardice can edit me. “I was reckless on Nareth-Kul. I ignored boundaries. I treated danger as a price other people were being overly dramatic about. I still believe I was right to pursue the truth. I no longer believe being right made me responsible enough.”

The words leave the room quieter than before.

Sira finally touches my hand under the table.

I let her.

The Ataxian representative studies me. “And what prevents this initiative from becoming another Choir? A group convinced it alone can decide what others may know?”

“Plural oversight,” I say. “Rotating authority. Mandatory dissent logs. Independent psychological review. Emergency shutdown protocols requiring at least three species’ representatives. No permanent classification without renewal. No lethal enforcement arm. No doctrine.”

Brakk clears his throat. “Also me.”

The representative blinks. “You?”

“If this turns into a cult, I am leaving and taking the good tools.”

Sira says, “An informal but powerful safeguard.”

Ghar adds, “He is difficult to replace.”

Brakk looks deeply moved, then points at Ghar. “Do not make this sentimental in front of management.”

The board moves into procedural argument after that, which is where all living urgency goes to be embalmed. They discuss funding, jurisdiction, charter language, artifact custody, site permits, survivor authority, and whether Brakk’s role requires a formal title.

He rejects Chief Field Engineer because it sounds “like wearing tight boots in a meeting.”

He suggests Hazard King.

The board rejects it.

I suggest Technical Recovery Lead before someone calls security.

By the time the authorization vote arrives, my coffee has gone cold again, Merrow has developed a facial twitch, and Ghar has shifted exactly once because standing too long is hurting him no matter how much he pretends otherwise. I want to drag him into a chair. I also know he is standing because he wants the board to see him choosing this work, not lurking behind it as muscle.

Halvek reads the final line aloud. “The Nareth-Kul Responsible Antiquities Initiative is hereby authorized under provisional charter for exploratory, containment, ethical review, and staged disclosure operations regarding dangerous ancient civilizations and destabilizing archaeological discoveries.”

The words strike my chest harder than expected.

Authorized.

The vote passes by enough margin to matter and narrow enough to keep everyone nervous, which is probably the healthiest possible outcome.

Halvek lowers the document. “Doctoral Candidate Prentiss, provisional directorship is yours.”

For a second, I cannot speak.

Me.

The girl who grew up around fake miracle stones and tourist shrines. The graduate student Merrow treated like a procedural infection. The reckless idiot who crawled through forbidden ruins chasing proof and found a truth too heavy to throw open. The woman who lied to a recovery board because she finally understood knowledge can wound.

Provisional director.

That feels both ridiculous and inevitable, which is generally how my life announces major developments.

Brakk leans over. “Say something professional.”