Page 31 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

“Not exactly.” He steps closer, his voice low. “But your boss, Orion Weller… he’s not who you think he is. He’s been lying to you from the start.”

I smirk, leaning back in my chair. Luhr’s taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

Cora hesitates, then nods. “One cup of coffee. That’s all the time you get to explain yourself.”

“Fair enough.” Luhr gestures toward a nearby coffee shop, and they start walking. I stand, tossing a few bills on the table, and follow at a distance, blending into the crowd. This is where it gets interesting.

I watch from the café as Cora and Luhr sit at the coffee shop, their conversation playing through my earpiece. My jaw tightens when Luhr slides a photo across the table. I can’t see it, but I know what it is—me, in my Vakutan form, taken decades ago. Damn Grolgath and their meticulous record-keeping.

“This could be AI,” Cora says, her tone skeptical. Her fingers tap lightly on the table, a nervous tic I’ve come to recognize. “Or Photoshop. People fake stuff like this all the time.”

Luhr leans forward, his voice smooth but firm. “Check the timestamp. That photo was taken in the early ‘80s. Photoshop didn’t exist. Neither did AI.”

She picks up the photo, her eyebrows knitting together as she studies it. “So what, you’re saying my boss is some kind of… alien?”

“Not just any alien. Vakutan. A species of warriors who’ve been infiltrating Earth for years.” He pulls a small packet of coffee creamer from his pocket and slides it toward her. “This will dissolve his disguise. Use it somewhere public. Expose him.”

Cora’s laugh is sharp, almost mocking. “And why would I do that? How do I know this isn’t just some elaborate scheme to poison a business rival?”

He leans back, spreading his hands. “You don’t. But ask yourself—why would I go to all this trouble just to take him out? He’s dangerous, Cora. You’re helping, whether you realize it or not.”

I mutter under my breath, my fingers tightening around my coffee cup.Don’t overplay it, Cora. Don’t push him too far.

She drums her fingers on the table again, her expression thoughtful. “So, what, I just pour this in his coffee and watch him turn into a lizard man? And if it’s all fake, I end up looking like an idiot?”

Luhr smirks, a calculated move. “It’s not fake. But if it’ll ease your mind…” He picks up the creamer, rips it open, and pours it into his own coffee. He takes a sip, his eyes locked on hers. “See? Harmless to humans.”

Cora glances at the creamer, then back at him. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if this is some kind of stunt, I’m turning you into the cops. Got it?”

“Fair enough.” He stands, smoothing his suit. “You’ll thank me later.”

I tap my earpiece as he walks away. “Cora, maintain radio silence. Two men are following you. Probably Luhr’s lackeys.”

She doesn’t respond, but I see her tense as she picks up her purse and heads for the door. My eyes flick to the two men—bulky, nondescript, the kind of muscle Luhr would hire. They trail her at a distance, their movements casual but deliberate.

I finish my coffee, my mind racing. Cora’s handling this better than I expected, but she’s walking a tightrope. One misstep, and Luhr will know she’s playing him. I stand, tossing a few bills on the table, and follow her at a distance. If those goons so much as look at her wrong, I’ll make sure they regret it.

Cora’s in control—for now. But I’m not taking any chances.

I watch as Cora disappears into her parents’ house, her two shadows lingering for a moment before sauntering off down thestreet. My instincts scream to follow her, to make sure she’s safe, but I know better. She’s playing her part, and I need to play mine. So I turn my attention to the thugs.

They’re not subtle, these two. Big shoulders, heavier steps than they should have for guys trying to blend in. They head toward the Soulard district, and I’m half a block behind, my image inducer keeping me inconspicuous. The neon lights of a strip club flash ahead, and sure enough, they duck inside.

I follow, the bass of the music hitting me like a physical force. The place is dimly lit, the air thick with perfume and sweat. I slide into a shadowed corner, my eyes locked on the thugs as they settle into a booth. A few minutes later, Lars walks in, all slick smiles and an ice-cream-white suit that practically screams “I’m here to cause trouble.”

I adjust my earpiece, activating the lip-reading program I’ve had installed since the ‘90s. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough.

“She took the bait.” Lars’ voice is smooth, confident. “The creamer’s in her hands. She’ll use it.”

One of the thugs leans forward, his voice a growl. “You sure she’s not playing us? She’s sharp, that one.”

Lars smirks, swirling the drink in his hand. “Sharp, sure. But desperate. She’ll do it. And when she does…” He trails off, but the menace in his voice is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade.

My jaw tightens. They’re talking about poison, something deadly to Vakutans. Clever bastards. But they’re not clever enough to know we’re onto them. I’m about to slip out when a woman in a barely-there outfit slides into view.

“Hey, big guy,” she purrs. “You look like you could use some company.”

I glance at her, then at the booth where Lars and his goons are still talking. Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I need. “Sure,” I say, pulling out a wad of cash. “Just a dance.”

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