Page 40 of Till Orc Do Us Part

---

Instead, my hand moves—unbidden.

Not towers.

Not steel.

People.

Then the bench. The one we repaired. I draw it slowly, every worn slat, the shell hidden beneath it.

I add no embellishment.

Truth is enough.

The graphite moves softer now, pages filling with pieces of a world I once dismissed.

I pause.

Listen.

The silence is vast, warm. Not the cold void of empty offices or hotel suites.

Here, it breathes.

For years, I have filled my hours with noise—meetings, screens, the endless hum of pursuit.

Now, in this quiet space above a stubborn bookstore, I do not hate it.

I welcome it.

A truth I do not know what to do with.

I set the pencil down, fingers lingering on the page.

Across the room, Jamie sighs in his sleep.

I glance toward the stairwell, where faint light still seeps beneath the door.

And I wonder if the things I have built are worth more than what I am finding here.

CHAPTER 13

ROWAN

Morning comes sharp and gray after the storm.

I crack the front door open. Puddles gleam like small mirrors across the boardwalk. Stray gulls pick at soggy debris, and the sky hangs low, still heavy with leftover rain.

I slept maybe four hours. Maybe.

Between the storm, Drokhaz bleeding all over my spare bed, and my own damn brain refusing to shut up… well.

Coffee is non-negotiable this morning.

I set the pot to brew, scrub a hand through my hair, and pad upstairs barefoot.

The attic room is empty.

I blink. For a half-second, my gut clenches.

---