Page 3 of Till Orc Do Us Part
He didn’t react.
Not to my anger. Not to my words. Not even to the insult that practically peeled paint off the damn ceiling.
Just watched me, cool as driftwood, like I was a breeze against a wall.
I drop onto the photo booth bench, hands in my lap. The whole town probably thinks I lost it. Kendrick’ll use it against me in the next council update. Drokhaz’ll file it away as “local eccentricity.” And Jamie’ll ask tomorrow why Mommy looked like she was yelling on TV.
Great. Just perfect.
I rub my temples, breathing deep. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“Storm’s coming,” says a voice.
I look up fast. Old Man Cass is shuffling along the planks, cane thudding with each step. He’s wearing that ridiculous waterproof poncho he swears is “enchanted” and smells faintly of fried seaweed and lemon balm.
“You were loud in there,” he says, eyes crinkling.
“I was passionate.”
He nods like it’s the same thing. “You rattled him.”
“No, I didn’t.” I stand again, dusting off the back of my cardigan. “He didn’t flinch.”
Cass shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t get under his skin. Some men bleed quiet.”
I stare out over the railing at the black water. “Maybe. But quiet bleeding doesn’t save the boardwalk.”
He grunts, pulling something from his coat pocket. A small compass, cracked down the center. “Your grandmother gave me this when we first built that popcorn stand. Said it didn’t point north. Said it pointed home.”
I take it. Turn it in my fingers. The needle spins in lazy loops.
“Where’s it pointing now?”
Cass taps my chest with one gnarled finger. “That way.”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “My heart’s the problem, not the guide.”
He walks off without another word, whistling something old and off-key.
I tuck the broken compass into my coat and make my way back down the boardwalk. Past the benches Jamie and I painted last summer. Past the locked gate at the carousel. Back to the bookstore, where the windows glow faintly, like a lighthouse in a storm.
Tomorrow, we regroup.
Tonight, I’m allowed to fall apart—just for a little while.
CHAPTER 2
DROKHAZ
I’ve reviewed these damn blueprints three times, but the lines still won’t settle.
The plans are sound. Efficient. Profitable. Glass towers rising clean from old rot. Steel beams replacing soft, splintered wood. Boardwalk turned beacon for coastal elite. A legacy worth my name.
Damn, I keep seeing her face.
That human woman. Fire in her voice, fury in her eyes. Brave enough to insult me in a public forum. Foolish enough to think it mattered.
"Wrecking ball in a bespoke jacket."
