Page 63 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

“And you.”

Her eyes lift sharply.

I continue because truth is sometimes the only blade that cuts clean. “He looked at you before he reached for the case. He knew you would try for it. He knew you would die if you did. He gave me something to bring back because he understood you would need proof that his death was not empty.”

Tears gather in her eyes, though she blinks hard against them. “Damn him.”

“Yes.”

“That was stupid and brave.”

“Yes.”

“I hate that those can be the same thing.”

“They often are.”

She wipes at her face angrily, smearing dust. “Thank you.”

I still.

Anita looks away, but she does not retract the words. “For saving my life during the attack. For bringing back the case. For telling me what he said, even though it hurt.”

The chamber’s faint warmth presses through clothing. Somewhere in the distance, stone shifts with a soft grinding sound. Sira remains motionless near the far wall, though I suspect she hears every word. Brakk has stopped pretending to repair his cutter, but he has enough grace not to speak.

“You do not have to thank me for keeping you alive,” I say.

Anita looks back at me, and the expression in her eyes is too open for the space we are in. “Maybe not. But I’m doing it anyway.”

The bond moves between us, but it is not the loudest thing in the chamber.

Brakk ruins it with perfect timing.

“Wonderful,” he says from across the chamber. “Now that everyone has had feelings, I found something that makes our situation even worse.”

Anita lets out a shaky breath that might have become a laugh in another life. “Of course you did.”

I rise and cross the chamber with Anita at my side. Brakk crouches over a small device he has pulled from the inner seam of his field kit, its black casing no larger than two fingers and its surface etched with a nearly invisible manufacturer code.

I recognize the shape from the equipment bay.

Anita does too. “That’s one of the missing signal taps.”

Brakk holds it up between two claws. “Found it wedged inside my spare resonance puck casing. Somebody planted it before we came down here.”

Sira’s eyes narrow. “A tracking device?”

“Worse,” Brakk says. “A passive relay. It would not transmit constantly, but whenever the archive sent a burst or the Choir pinged the right frequency, this little bastard would answer.”

Cold settles through me, heavier than the ruin air.

Anita’s face goes still. “Someone inside the expedition helped them locate the archive.”

Brakk nods grimly. “Not just helped. Someone made sure they could follow us after we found it.”

I look toward the dark corridor ahead, then toward the sealed nightmare above us. The tactical picture rearranges itself with brutal clarity. The Choir did not merely react to the archive activation. They were already positioned, already informed, already seeded into our systems through someone we ate beside, argued with, and trusted enough to ignore.

Anita clutches the case strap.