Page 22 of Orc Me, Maybe

I catch it, just barely. “Are you always this chivalrous?”

“Only when you’re turning blue.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, even as I wrap the blanket around me like a burrito of stubborn pride. “Thanks.”

He sits on a crate across from me, elbows on his knees, flashlight shadows making his tusks gleam faintly. For a moment, all I hear is the rain, the creak of the cabin settling, and the sound of my own heart beating too loudly in the silence.

“You’re always like this,” he says suddenly.

I blink. “Like what?”

“Talking. Filling the quiet. Even now.”

“Better than sitting in awkward silence waiting for the roof to cave in.”

“It’s not awkward.”

“You say that like awkwardness is a weakness.”

He looks at me then, eyes locked, voice low. “It’s not. Just… unfamiliar.”

The words settle between us like something heavier than storm clouds.

I don’t respond. I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that—like he’s seeing me for the first time and also the hundredth. Like I’m both a problem he wants to solve and a puzzle he wants to keep unfinished.

I clear my throat, trying to focus. “You ever do this before?”

“What?”

“Get stuck somewhere. With someone. In the dark.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture softens. “Once.”

“Was it a total nightmare?”

“It wasn’t this quiet.”

He says it like a confession, and I don’t press. But something in me unfolds, just a little.

We lapse into silence again, but this time it’s softer. Easier. The kind of quiet that holds weight without pressure.

Then he says, “You handle storms better than most.”

“I grew up with chaos,” I reply. “You learn how to either steer it or surf it.”

“Which one are you doing now?”

“Bit of both.”

He chuckles, just barely. “I thought you’d panic.”

“Ineverpanic. I catastrophize proactively.”

Torack leans back slightly, arms crossed now, watching me. “Do you always deflect with humor?”

“Yes. And caffeine. And spreadsheets.”

“You’re not just funny,” he says. “You’re… good. Steady.”

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