Page 11 of Alien Assassin's Heir

The whole walk home, my eyes flick over every rooftop. Every alley. Every window that reflects sunlight just wrong enough to hint at something more.

Solie skips beside me, humming a song she makes up as she goes, completely unaware that the tectonic plates of my life just shifted underfoot. I grip her little hand harder than I should, and she glances up.

“You okay, Mama?”

“Just tired, sweetheart.”

A lie. But not a big one.

Once home, I double-check every lock and seal the windows tight. Solie’s too wound up to notice. She tumbles through the apartment like a starfire comet, dragging stuffed toys and humming battle tunes.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” I lie again. “You watch your shows, okay?”

“Okay!” she chirps, climbing onto the couch with her starwhale and a blanket twice her size.

The moment her eyes are glued to the screen, I slip into my room and shut the door behind me. My hands are already moving before I consciously decide to.

I dig out the old floor panel beneath the bed. The hinges squeak like they haven’t moved in a decade. My fingers close around the wrapped bundle beneath.

The compad’s still there. Still cold. Still waiting.

Three years since he vanished.

Three years since he left this thing behind with a scribbled note:If you ever need answers.

I key it on. The screen blinks. Dust motes swirl in the blue glow.

There’s only one file.

FOR L.

I hesitate. My finger hovers above it like opening the file will make all of it real again. The betrayal. The disappearance. The truth.

I open it.

The file stutters as it loads. There's encryption damage—half the data fractured into nonsense characters and corrupted headers. But the Coalition seal is there, flickering in the corner like a branding iron.

I don’t understand most of what scrolls past. But a few words leap out. Words that slam into me like a closed fist.

Asset Used: Desmond, L.

Status: unaware.

Objective: information gathering through proximity engagement.

Contingency Protocol: liquidation of compromised asset.

I choke back a sound—something between a sob and a snarl.

It’s all there. Redacted to hell, encrypted into oblivion, but enough to read between the lines. I wasn’t just collateral.

I was the assignment.

The compad screen flickers again. Then crashes. Just black.

I shove it away like it’s poison and press my palms to my eyes until stars bloom behind my lids.

Kraj wasn’t some rogue soldier who got lost in the war.