Page 52 of Till Orc Do Us Part
I rest my elbows on the table, hands steepled, and close my eyes for a beat.
Her scent still lingers if I let it—ink and sugar and storm-soaked skin. Her voice still cuts through the sterile hush of this place.
"You can’t just… do this."
But I did.
And I left.
Because staying would have meant something neither of us was ready to face.
The door hisses open.
I straighten.
Ilyana Stathos sweeps in with her usual precision—heels silent on the polished floor, dark suit tailored within a thread of perfection. Her black hair is scraped into a severe knot, not a strand out of place.
She’s carrying a hardcopy binder—thick and freshly printed.
Without preamble, she sets it on the table before me.
“Final financials for Lowtide Bluffs,” she says crisply. “We need your signature before close of business if we want to stay on schedule.”
I flip the cover open.
Demolition orders. Contractor lists. Site maps stripped of history, showing clean gray placeholders where memory once lived.
The boardwalk—rendered in dotted lines, slated for removal.
I skim faster. The numbers mean nothing right now.
“Profitability projections?” I ask, voice flat.
“Twelve-point-three percent margin increase if we demo fully,” she replies. “Versus significant losses if we attempt partial preservation.”
I close the report.
And I think of Jamie’s cardboard lighthouse.
Of the bench I sketched beneath a shell no developer will ever count.
Of Rowan, standing fierce and bare-eyed beneath the weight of her own stubborn heart.
“You’ve reviewed public sentiment projections?” I ask.
She inclines her head. “We’ve modeled potential PR costs. Manageable—if we proceed quickly and control the narrative.”
I arch a brow. “Control it how?”
“Leverage economic benefits. Emphasize job creation and community revitalization.”
I tap the edge of the binder. “And the people?”
She hesitates.
Ilyana does not hesitate lightly.
“Lowtide is economically fragile,” she says at last. “Sentiment is high. But history shows they will fold under sustained pressure.”
