Page 63 of Alien Assassin's Heir

Everything—the warmth, the laughter, the kisses, the way he touched me like I was the only thing that mattered—it was built on lies. Again.

I drop to the floor, my chest heaving, tears burning hot down my cheeks. My nails dig into my palms until they sting, but it doesn’t cut through the hurt hollowing me out from the inside.

“Why?” I whisper into the dark. My voice breaks. “Why can’t you ever just be mine?”

A sound stirs from the bedroom—Solie shifting in her sleep. I push myself up on shaking legs and stumble toward her room like a drowning woman reaching for shore.

She’s sprawled across her little cot, her toy clutched tight, her golden eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Her hair spills across the pillow, soft as silk. I sink down beside her, pulling her into my arms. She murmurs, half-asleep, “Mama?” before nestling against me, warm and trusting.

That trust guts me.

I press my lips to her hair and rock her gently, silent sobs wracking my chest. I weep not just for me—for the betrayal that feels like fire eating through my veins—but for her. For the father she doesn’t know, the truth I’ve buried, the storm bearing down on us faster than I can shield her from.

I don’t know how long I sit there. Minutes. Hours. Time collapses under the weight of my grief.

At last, with my hands still trembling, I ease her back into her bed, brushing her hair from her forehead. My legs feel like they’re made of stone as I stand and move to my desk.

The old compad waits, its surface cold and familiar under my fingers. I open the encrypted channel, one I swore I’d never touch again. My last shred of clearance, buried in a dormant beacon like a ghost of the woman I used to be.

The screen flickers. A prompt glows:Input Message.

I stare at it, tears blurring my vision. My fingers hover over the keys. My heart pounds so loud I swear it’ll wake him in the next room.

Slowly, I type:

Watch him. He’s not done.

The cursor blinks. My breath shudders.

With one final surge of strength, I press send.

The beacon hums low, faint, a whisper of light fading as the message vanishes into the net.

I shut the compad, my hands shaking so violently I almost drop it. My chest aches so hard I think it might split open.

And then, in the silence of my darkened home, I fall apart.