Page 39 of Her Orc Healer

No voice called me back.

Just the river behind me. Just the wind in the trees. Just my own ragged breathing.

I kept moving, half-blind with panic, my fingers aching from how tightly I curled them into my skirts. The warmth of Kazrek's hands still ghosted against my skin, the weight of him still pressed into my memory, branded there, inescapable.

What had just happened?

By the alders, what had I done?

"Girl, what did you do?"

The small balcony outside my apartment was barely big enough for the two of us, its wooden planks worn smooth by years of rain and sun. It jutted out over the street below, supported by iron brackets, more practical than decorative—a sturdy little perch above the ink shop, meant for airing out parchment and drying herbs, not lingering over late-night drinks.

But tonight, that was exactly what Iris and I were doing.

I stared into my cup, the scent of spiced cider curling into the cool night air, but I hadn't taken more than a sip. Across from me, perched on the edge of the worn wooden bench, Iris watched me over the rim of her own drink, sharp-eyed and expectant.

"I—" My fingers tightened around the ceramic mug. "I kissed him."

There. It was out.

Iris let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and shook her head. "I knew it," she muttered. "A man like that? The way you’ve been looking at him? It was only a matter of time."

I glared at her, but there was no real bite behind it. "That’s not helpful."

She arched one graying brow at me. "Do you want helpful, or do you want honest?"

I exhaled sharply, frustrated with myself more than her. "I don’t know what I want."

"That," she said, leaning back with a knowing smile, "is a lie."

Everwood had gone quiet beneath us, the last market-goers long gone, the hum of voices and bartering replaced by the occasional clatter of a cart or the murmur of someone making their way home. The air carried the faint scent of distant hearthfires, the crisp bite of approaching winter threading through the warmth of my cider.

I hadn’t seen Kazrek since I ran.

After getting back to the shop, I had thrown myself into work, as if drowning in ledgers and ink-making would erase the memory of his hands on me, the way he had steadied me against the tree, the way he had kissed me.

And the way I had let him, only to tear myself away and flee like a coward.

I tightened my grip on my mug, staring into the dark streets below.

"Nothing since?" Iris asked, too casually, as if she could read my thoughts.

I shook my head. “No sign of him.”

And that shouldn’t have bothered me. It was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Iris hummed, tapping her fingers against the mug in her lap. “What’s the plan, then?”

I frowned. “Plan?”

“For what happens next.” She gave me a look. “Or are you just hoping to ignore it until it goes away?”

I scoffed, but it came out weaker than I wanted.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Iris said, clearly delighted.

Before I could snap back, the balcony door creaked open behind us.

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