Page 3 of Orc Me, Maybe

I’m not sure if it’s envy or admiration, but either way, I’m here. Camp Lightring is happening. It’s messy, it’s loud, it smellslike sweat and sawdust and maybe possibility. And I’m not gonna screw this up.

I gather my planner, adjust my bun, and head out toward the mess hall frame. Time to organize chaos.

CHAPTER 2

TORACK

The blueprint keeps trying to escape like it knows something I don’t. Wind catches the edge again, flapping it like a taunt. I slam my hand down—hard—and pin it in place against the makeshift table.

I’ve had enough of things trying to slip through my fingers lately.

“Right, so you’re saying the fire pit’s going rightoverthe main line?” Renault’s voice whines to my left. He’s wearing another impossibly crisp jacket, probably elven silk, and adjusting his cufflinks like he’s attending a gala, not standing in a construction zone surrounded by pine needles and sawdust.

“It’s not ideal,” Dena says, tapping the design with a lacquered nail, “but it’s the only viable route with the slope and soil we’ve got. Unless you want to regrade the whole eastern ridge, and we all know the budget’s allergic to that.”

“It’s a logistical compromise,” I add, my voice flat. “Not a flaw.”

Renault scoffs. “It’s a risk.”

I finally lift my gaze to him. “So is letting kids climb trees, and we’re not paving the forest.”

“Trees aren’t plumbing.”

“They both have roots,” Dena offers, almost too cheerfully. Her wings flutter behind her in amusement.

Renault makes a face like he stepped in something. I bite back the urge to tell him he’s welcome to step off the board if he’s that squeamish. But I don’t. Yet.

“I’m only saying,” Renault presses on, “that this camp is meant to be a beacon. A symbol of cultural unity. If it collapses because someone tripped on a pipe?—”

“It won’t,” I cut in. “Because I won’t let it.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement—broad shoulders and a sunburned neck approaching with a swagger that means only one thing: more bad news.

“Speak of the devil,” Dena mutters as Groth the goblin contractor stomps up. He’s wearing his usual work belt and a too-small hard hat perched like an afterthought atop his dome-shaped head. He’s chewing something. Loudly.

Groth doesn’t even wait for a greeting. “Torack. We got a problem. West bunk foundation’s a mess. Rock shelf’s closer to the surface than we thought.”

I sigh. “You told me the survey came back clear.”

Groth shrugs one shoulder. “Itwasclear. Then we started digging.”

I cross my arms. “So you missed it.”

“I’m telling you it shifted,” he insists, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve already stained with gods-know-what. “Maybe gremlins, maybe tectonics. You want I should file a motion to the Geomancer’s Guild?”

“Don’t be cute.”

“I’malwayscute,” he says, flashing a toothy grin full of fangs and grit.

Renault groans. “Is this the kind of expertise you rely on? Truly?”

Groth turns slowly, dramatically. “Hey, pretty-boy,” he says, “have you ever poured concrete on a floating slab at forty degrees? No? Then shut it.”

I rub my temples. “Groth, go back. Shore it up. Use the tension plates we ordered. If it’s not stable by dusk, I want it leveled and re-framed. No half-jobs. We’ve got kids arriving in less than a month.”

Groth tilts his head, gives me a sideways smirk. “You got it, boss.”

“Not the boss,” Renault mutters.

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