Page 21 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

Mom stands, patting my shoulder. “Now, since you cooked, your dad and I will handle the dishes.”

I protest, but they wave me off, shooing me out of the kitchen. I head upstairs, my phone already in hand as I type out a message to Orion.

“So when do you want me to move in?”

His reply is instant. “Tomorrow.”

I grin, my heart racing. Tomorrow.

I sit cross-legged on the floor of my childhood bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the scattered remnants of my life. The room smells faintly of lavender and old paper, a scent that’s been here as long as I can remember. My hands hover over a dusty shoebox, and I pull it open, grinning when I see the tiny gold soccer trophy inside.

“Next stop, FIFA World Cup,” I mutter, reading the engraving on the base. Dad’s handwriting is unmistakable, all caps and slightly crooked. I laugh, shaking my head. “One season, and he thought I was the next Mia Hamm.”

I set the trophy aside, my fingers brushing against something else under the bed. It’s a small, leather-bound journal, its cover worn and soft. I flip it open, the pages yellowed with age, and my breath catches. Junior high Cora’s handwriting stares back at me, loopy and uneven.

“Dear Diary,” I read aloud, my voice soft. “Today, I decided what my perfect man would be like. He’d be tall enough that I could lean my head on his shoulder when we dance. He’d take care of me, make me feel special. He’d challenge me but also support me no matter what. And he’d love me the way I need to be loved.”

My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. I trace the words with my finger, the ink smudged in places where I must have cried while writing. It’s like I’m looking at a map of my heart, one I didn’t even realize I’d been following.

“Orion,” I whisper, the name slipping out before I can stop it. He’s tall—so tall I have to crane my neck to look at him. He takes care of me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. He challenges me, pushes me to be better, but he’s also my biggest supporter. And the way he loves me… it’s everything I ever wanted, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

I hug the diary to my chest, a warmth spreading through me that I can’t quite explain. It’s like a puzzle piece clicking into place, a truth I’ve been avoiding finally coming into focus.

“I’m in love with Oriyn,” I say, the words soft but sure. A laugh bubbles up, giddy and light, and I press the diary to my face, hiding my smile. “I’m in love with an alien. Who would’ve thought?”

The room feels different now, like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for me to catch up. I set the diary down gently, my hands trembling just a little. I’m not sure what happens next, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not scared to find out.

CHAPTER 10

ORION

"Iwish I had more interesting fare for our conversation, Captain," I say, leaning back in the chair across from Pyke’s desk. My scales catch the soft blue light of the holographic readouts floating above his workspace. "But what can I say except it's quite boring—profits are up, costs are down, and we've successfully created ten thousand new living wage jobs this quarter alone."

Pyke’s crimson scales shimmer as he grins, his sharp teeth gleaming. "Boring is good, Orion. Boring means stability. Stability means we’re winning. You’ve done excellent work."

"Excellent work," I echo, my voice dry. "I’m sure the Trident Alliance will sing songs of my spreadsheets one day."

He chuckles, leaning forward, his massive frame making the desk seem absurdly small. "Spreadsheets win wars, my friend. No empire ever fell because someone crunched the numbers too hard."

"Poetic," I deadpan, crossing my arms. "Anything else, or can I get back to my thrilling paperwork?"

Pyke’s grin fades, replaced by a somber expression that sets my scales prickling. "Actually, there is something. It’s time to step up Cora’s Veritas training. I need you to instruct herin hand-to-hand combat, small Vakutan firearms, and basic starship controls."

I freeze. "What for? Human agents don’t get combat training unless they’re going into the field. Is that what this is? You’re sending her out?"

Pyke doesn’t flinch. "We’ve received intel. Luhr’s active in the St. Louis area. He’s sniffing around, looking for someone close to Orion Weller. He suspects you’re with Veritas. We want to use Cora as bait to draw him out."

My claws dig into the arms of the chair. "No."

"Orion—"

"No." I stand, my voice a low, guttural growl. "You’re not putting her in danger. She’s not a pawn. She’s?—"

"She’s a recruit," Pyke interrupts, his tone calm but firm. "And if she’s going to survive in this war, she needs to know how to fight. You know that."

I slam my fist into the desk, the impact sending a crack through the synthetic material. Pyke doesn’t even blink. "I won’t risk her like this. She’s not ready."

"She’s tougher than you think. And if you can’t train her, I’ll assign her to someone else."

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