Page 8 of Orc Me, Maybe

I nudge my boot. “Still gonna need hazard pay.”

“You survive one more walk with Groth and I’ll double your salary.”

“Deal.”

He walks off before I can ask if he’s serious. Probably not. But hey, at least I still have one boot.

I stand, squelch my way back to the cabin, and decide that tomorrow, I’m bringing extra socks. And maybe knee pads. And peppermints for the salamanders. Just in case.

Because this camp might try to kill me—but damned if I’m not gonna outlast it.

CHAPTER 4

TORACK

The conference tent’s hot. Not just warm—stifling. The kind of heat that makes tempers short and patience microscopic. I smell stress and overpriced cologne before anyone even opens their mouths.

Dena’s already flapping a fan at herself, sitting beside Renault, who’s gone full high-horse in a linen vest that looks like it’s never seen a day’s labor. The rest of the board—less important, more decorative—crowd around a collapsible table littered with glossy pamphlets and my notes.

Behind me, the flap rustles.

Lillian slips inside.

I don’t need to turn around to know it’s her. The air shifts, like it always does when she enters a space. My chest tightens. She shouldn’t be here. Not now.

I glance over my shoulder. She’s got that look on her face—the one where her eyes sparkle with mischief but her chin’s set like concrete. Trouble brewing. I’ve seen it before.

“Lillian,” I say quietly. “Back outside.”

She crosses her arms. “I have something to say.”

“Now’s not the time.”

Renault chuckles under his breath. “Looks like the public’s arrived.”

I grit my teeth.

“I want to talk,” she insists. “It’s about the playground.”

My shoulders stiffen. “You’ve already told me?—”

“Ibuilta model. With sticks. It’s better than the one in the plans.”

I catch Julie in my peripheral, standing awkwardly near the side of the tent, half-hidden by a stack of presentation boards. She’s watching Lillian with this… softness. Like she sees something I’ve missed.

“Lillian,” I say, firmer. “Go wait outside.”

Her lip wobbles. “You said the camp was for me.”

“It is.”

“Then why can’t I help?”

My patience is paper thin, and the murmurs from the table only feed the burn rising in my throat. Dena shifts in her seat. Renault smirks. A few others lean in like they’re watching a slow-motion train wreck.

“Because this is not a game,” I snap. “This is a meeting. With people who signed contracts and wrote checks. This isn’t a backyard fort.”

Lillian’s mouth opens like she might say something more, but she doesn’t. Her fists clench. Her chin trembles. And then, without another word, she spins and bolts out of the tent.

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