Page 25 of Orc Me, Maybe

“I wasn’t going to act on it.”

“You were already acting on it,” she says. “Then you stopped. And now you’re here trying to mop it up like it was a dropped file.”

I step closer. “It wasn’t nothing.”

She laughs once—sharp and dry. “Sure feels like nothing now.”

I hate this. I hate how she’s right and how I can’t tell her that without making it worse. I hate how her shoulders look tighter and her eyes colder and how all of it’s because of me.

I hate that I want to grip that ponytail of hers in my fist and-

“You work for me,” I say, quiet, crushing down those thoughts.

She rolls her eyes. “There it is.”

“It matters.”

“Why?” she demands. “Because you think I can’t separate feelings from function? You think I’d derail this whole camp because of a kiss that didn’t even happen?”

“No,” I say quickly. “No. I thinkIwould.”

She blinks. “What?”

“I’m the one who can’t separate it. You walk into a room, and I stop thinking straight. You smile and I lose track of whatever crisis I was trying to solve. I’ve run battlefields with less chaos than what you put in my head.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.

“I’m responsible for all of this,” I say, voice low. “The kids. The land. The board. My daughter. If I let this... whatever it is between us... run wild, I’m not sure I’ll come back from it.”

“That’s not protection,” she says after a beat. “That’s fear.”

I look down. “I know.”

She steps toward me. “You’re allowed to want something, Torack. You’re allowed to feel. Not just for her. For you.”

“I can’t risk it.”

“And I can’t stay in a place where every honest thing I feel gets treated like a liability.”

Her voice breaks, just slightly. She turns away before I can see the rest.

“I’ll keep doing the job,” she says, straightening. “I’ll plan the events, wrangle the goblins, keep your chaos running. But I’m not apologizing for wanting something that felt real.”

I step forward, but she’s already moving—papers gathered, mug in hand, scarf wrapped too tight.

She pauses at the door, just for a second.

“You’re not the only one carrying this camp,” she says. “You just forgot I was strong enough to help.”

And then she’s gone.

I’m left standing in a quiet room that feels like it used to be full of something that mattered.

And now it’s just me, and rules.

And a storm that didn’t even do the real damage.

CHAPTER 11

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