Page 22 of Till Orc Do Us Part
We walk on. The crowd thins. Vendors open stalls for the afternoon rush. I catch snippets of conversation, feel eyes following us.
Beside me, Drokhaz remains a steady, silent presence.
Too steady.
I glance at him. “You’re quiet.”
He looks down at me. “I find silence… instructive.”
“Hmph.” I shake my head. “You ever let loose, Mr. Vellum? Laugh? Dance on these planks like the rest of us?”
“Not in some time.”
I stop abruptly. “You should try it.”
He arches a brow. “Now?”
I grin. “Why not?”
A moment of pure madness takes me—I grab his hand, tug him toward the open space near the carousel. The old speakers crackle with tinny music—some forgotten doo-wop tune drifting through the salt air.
Drokhaz stiffens, clearly out of his element.
I laugh. “Relax. No one’s watching.”
“Everyone is watching.”
I roll my eyes. “Good. Let them.”
For a heartbeat, he hesitates. He lets me guide him into a clumsy sway.
His hand is warm, calloused beneath mine. His scent—ozone and something deeper—wraps around me.
Too close. Too real.
I pull back, heart racing.
“There. Now you’ve danced.”
He inclines his head. “An enlightening experience.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
His mouth curves. “I would not presume.”
We stand there a moment—caught between something almost familiar and something I can’t name.
Then I clear my throat, stepping back.
“Tour’s over,” I say. “You’ve seen what matters.”
He nods once. “Indeed.”
I turn to go, but his voice stops me.
“Ms. Moore.”
I glance back.
