Page 31 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

He hands me a mug, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sends a spark up my arm. I take a sip, the bitterness tempered by the sugar and cream he added just the way I like it. "You’re really good at this," I say, gesturing to the coffee and the kitchen in general.

"Centuries of practice," he says with a smirk, leaning back against the counter. "You learn a thing or two when you’ve been around as long as I have."

I raise an eyebrow. "Centuries, huh? You’re really not just saying that to impress me?"

He snorts. "Trust me, if I wanted to impress you, I’d tell you about the time I wrestled a Tiranosauron on my homeworld. Bare-handed."

My jaw drops. "You’re kidding."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Depends," I say, narrowing my eyes playfully. "Are you trying to impress me?"

He laughs again, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that it makes my chest ache. "Maybe a little," he admits.

I take another sip of coffee, then set the mug down on the counter. "What’s your home planet like? Dangerous, right?"

He nods, his expression growing more serious. "Brutal. Stark landscapes, but beautiful in their own way. My people live in harmony with the environment, the way the Precursors intended. Much of it remains undeveloped, untouched. It’s… stark, but sacred."

"The Precursors," I echo, remembering the term from our late-night conversation. "Who—or what—are they?"

Karc hesitates, his golden eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. "They’re… complicated. Enigmatic. We Vakutans believe they engineered all life in the galaxy, including us, the Grolgath, even humans. They’re like… God-ancestors, I suppose you could say."

I tilt my head, studying him. "You don’t sound too sure about that."

He shrugs again, but there’s tension in the movement this time. "It’s not something we talk about lightly. The Precursorsare… sacred. Their designs are beyond our understanding. Some say they’re still guiding us, even now, in ways we can’t see."

I let that sink in, the enormity of it making my head spin. "That’s… a lot to take in," I admit.

He reaches out, his hand brushing mine. "It is. But it’s also why I’m here. Why I do what I do. The Precursors’ designs—they’re bigger than any one of us. And if we’re lucky, we get to play a small part in them."

I stare at him. There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that makes me feel like he’s talking about more than just the Precursors. About us. Aboutme.

But before I can respond, he straightens, his expression shifting back to that easy, confident smirk. "More coffee?" he asks, holding up the pot.

I nod, holding out my mug. "Sure. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that Tiranosauron story."

CHAPTER 14

KARC

The rich, earthy aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the solarium as Raven and I sit across from each other, the morning light filtering through the oversized windows. Her fingers curl around her mug, her dark eyes catching mine with a question lingering in them.

My phone buzzes on the marble countertop. The screen flashes with a single word:Company.I glance at Raven, her brow furrowing as she watches me. I tap the image inducer at my wrist, the golden scales of my skin shimmering and fading into the smooth, human tan of Kirk Stevens.

"Why did you put on your human disguise?" she asks, setting her mug down with a soft clink.

"Because we're about to have company," I reply, my voice calm but edged with anticipation.

A knock echoes through the house, sharp and precise. I stride to the door, my shoes clicking against the hardwood. When I open it, a quartet of fashionistas stands on my doorstep, their presence as polished as their leather portfolios. Each one is a walking masterpiece—sleek hair, impeccable makeup, outfits that screammoney.

"Mr. Stevens," the lead one greets, her voice smooth as silk. "We’re here for Ms. Raven."

Raven’s already on her feet, her arms folded across her chest like a shield. "What’s this about?"

I gesture toward the group. "This is your team. They’re here to get you ready for tonight."

Her eyes dart between me and the fashionistas, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "The last time someone did my hair for me, I was eight."

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