Page 4 of Till Orc Do Us Part

---

A faint curl pulls at the corner of my mouth. She’s wrong, of course. I prefer my metaphors cleaner.

But not her words. Not her presence. Something about it hums beneath my skin, uninvited.

I scowl and shove the blueprint aside.

A knock rattles the thin aluminum door of my trailer.

“Busy,” I call out.

Another knock. Softer this time.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "Come."

The door creaks open. A small figure steps inside—barefoot, curls wild, clutching a blue fabric-covered notebook to his chest.

The boy.

Rowan’s boy.

He stares up at me with wide, sea-glass eyes. Unafraid. Curious.

“Thought you might want this,” he says, holding out the notebook. “You dropped it.”

I blink, masking my surprise beneath practiced stillness. The notebook is mine—notes from today’s meetings, rough sketches, half a dozen legal threats I intend to ignore.

I rise from my chair, towering over him. “You followed me?”

“No,” he says. “Saw you leave it by the chair. I’m good at finding things.”

I study him. The resemblance is obvious—same stubborn chin, same quiet intensity. No hint of fear, even here, alone in my space.

“What’s your name?” I ask, voice low.

“Jamie.”

He says it like it’s obvious. I remember now—Rowan’s boy. The heart she fights for.

I take the notebook. “Thank you.”

He shifts from foot to foot, gaze flicking to the scattered blueprints across my desk. “Are those… buildings?”

I arch a brow. “They are.”

“Do you… name them?”

I blink. “No.”

“You should. Mom says things with names last longer.”

A huff escapes me—half a breath of amusement, too soft to count as a laugh. “Does she?”

He nods solemnly, stepping closer. “You’re big. Are all orcs this big?”

“In my clan, yes.”

“Why are you green?”

A pause. No one’s asked me that in decades.

---