Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 245

Chapter 245 Have a Chat With Those Two Dragons

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On the screen, the folder buried three levels deep in the directory structure pulsed with a dark red glow. The code strings wrapped around it were more complex than the ones they’d already broken, embedded with what appeared to be a self-destruct trigger.

“Can you crack it?” Margaret asked.

Cheiron adjusted his glasses; the dense streams of code reflected in his gray eyes. “Yes. But it’ll take time.”

He sat down and set his fingers to the virtual keyboard, peeling back the layers of protective encryption one by one.

Margaret stood behind him and watched. Cheiron at work was nothing like Cheiron at rest. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, his gray eyes turned razor-sharp, and his fingertips moved so fast they blurred. He radiated a cold, absolute focus.

The first layer of encryption came apart, exposing a second beneath it,

Cheiron’s brow furrowed. “This algorithm isn’t standard interstellar encryption.” He paused for half a beat. “It’s custom. Designed specifically to prevent internal leaks. The decryption key was broken into fragments and scattered across different sections of the main file…”

He began reverse-tracing those fragmented key pieces through the primary document, piecing them together one by one.

Ten minutes passed. The only sounds in the office were the tapping of keys and the rhythm of their breathing.

Margaret didn’t rush him. She leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, processing everything she’d already read. The words “Operation Harvest” kept turning over in her head.

When those people signed their names, did any of them think about the living souls on that planet? The children? The old! The ones who were eating dinner, or sleeping, or laughing—

“It’s open.” Cheiron’s voice cut through her thoughts.

On the screen, the dark red chains splintered apart. A short list of names materialized. No decorative formatting-just names, titles, and the roles they had played in the operation.

Nine people total. Three Federation council members. Five Imperial nobles.

The last name, Lesley Earhart, appeared slightly larger than the rest, framed in the gold border reserved for the royal family.

Margaret’s breath stopped for a full beat.

“Well, damn…” The curse came out quiet, laced with a bitterness she couldn’t quite name.

The same Lesley had entrusted her only child to Margaret on her deathbed. She was the one who’d personally signed the extermination order for Earth.

Margaret let out a short, hollow laugh. “I wonder if she’d crawl out of her grave if she knew the truth-that

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Chapter 245 Have a Chat With Those Two Dragons

the person she handed her daughter to was someone whose entire world she’d wiped out.”

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Cheiron removed his glasses and wiped the lenses. The gesture betrayed that his composure wasn’t as steady as it looked. “Norman didn’t know,” he said.

“No kidding. She’s six.” Margaret rubbed her temples and forced down the churning emotions.

She pulled in a deep breath and shut off the screen. “Let’s go.”

Cheiron said, “Where?”

“Time to have a chat with those two dragons.”

Cheiron rose and slid his glasses back on. He paused at the door. “How do you plan to ask them?”

“Directly.” Margaret pushed the door open. “We’ve been through life and death together. No point dancing

around it now,”

By the time they got back to the villa, Tyrone and Quentin were already at the dining table having lunch.

Tyrone spotted Margaret and Cheiron walking in and lifted his coffee cup, a grin spreading across his face. “Ms. Greene, you’re back. Have you eaten? I was starting to think you and Mr. Jewett wouldn’t make it home today.”

Quentin was stretched out on the long sofa in the living room, eyes closed, either asleep or faking it very convincingly

Margaret pulled out the chair across from Tyrone and sat down, crossing her legs.

Cheiron took a seat at the far end of the table, keeping some distance. He didn’t speak.

Margaret got straight to the point. “You’re from Earth.”

No preamble. No testing the waters. The words dropped into the quiet room like a blade.

Tyrone’s hand froze around his coffee cup.

The silence stretched for several seconds. Quentin’s eyes opened, his crimson irises stark in the lamplight,

Tyrone set his cup down and traced a slow circle along the rim with his finger.

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