Page 37 of Till Orc Do Us Part
He listens. He watches. He shows up when it matters.
He bleeds for people who don’t even know his name.
And he looks at me like I’m something worth studying. Not in a way that makes me feel small. In a way that makes me feelseen.
That’s dangerous.
I exhale, slow and shaky.
The boundaries I built are starting to bend. I feel it in the way my breath catches when he’s near. The way my hands linger too long when I patch his wounds. The way I remember the shape of his smile in the dark.
Gods help me.
I pull the blanket tighter, eyes squeezed shut.
There’s no room for this. No time. No safety net.
But upstairs, a lighthouse made of cardboard sits beside a man built of storms.
And maybe, I’ve already started to drift toward it.
CHAPTER 12
DROKHAZ
The first thing I feel is warmth.
Soft sheets. The faint weight of a blanket. The hum of a storm faded to a distant whisper beyond old glass.
For a moment, I do not move.
For a moment, I forget where I am.
Then memory stirs—sharp and clear. Rain. Blood. Her hands, steady against my skin. The weight of gratitude and something else thickening the air between us.
My eyes snap open.
Wood beams arch above me, worn with age. The scent of old paper and lavender clings to the air.
The bookstore.
I shift slightly.
A small form is curled at the foot of the bed—Jamie.
He’s sprawled sideways, limbs loose in sleep, one hand clutching a worn plush shark like a lifeline. His breath rasps softly through parted lips.
I watch him for a long moment.
Unwise. Unsafe.
Yet I cannot look away.
I had a brother once.
Older by two years. Fiercer than any blade. He taught me to fight. To read the stars. To question the orders that cost us more than blood.
He fell before the treaties were signed.
