Page 88 of Till Orc Do Us Part
If I am to build this place beside them, I will stand as they do.
Cass eyes me up and down with a smirk. “Didn’t figure you for ditchin’ the fancy getup.”
“No boardrooms here,” I say.
“Damn right.”
The boardwalk is alive in a way I’ve never seen—voices rising and falling like surf, the rhythmic beat of hammers joining them. Locals swarm the space—young, old, curious, skeptical—woven together by more than duty now. By ownership. By choice.
And I am among them.
Jamie races up beside me, cheeks flushed, curls wild with wind.
“Mr. Drokhaz!” he beams. “We’re makin’ the old fish shack into a reading place!”
“A storytelling nook,” I say softly.
He bounces. “That sounds cooler!”
Liara passes by, sleeves rolled, arms full of canvas banners. She smirks. “Didn’t think you’d last past lunch.”
I meet her gaze. “You underestimate my stubbornness.”
She laughs. “You’ll fit in just fine.”
Jamie tugs at my sleeve. “C’mon! We gotta get the old nails out first!”
I let him lead me—small fingers wrapped trustingly around two of mine. His steps are quick, sure. He pulls me toward the fish shack like it holds treasure.
In a way, it does.
The shack leans at an angle against the tide-stained boardwalk. Its sides are bleached bone-white by decades of sun and salt. The roof sags beneath old nets and rusted weather vanes. Seaweed tangles beneath the floorboards.
But the bones of it… they are good.
Cass hands me a pry bar. “First nail’s yours.”
I nod.
Set the tip beneath a warped nail. Brace. Pull.
The nail groans free with a long, metallic shriek.
Jamie whoops. “You’re strong!”
I glance down. “You helped.”
His grin is pure light.
And so it begins.
Hour by hour, I work.
Hands calloused anew beneath hammer and wrench. Sweat streaking my skin, eyes stinging. My shoulders burn in ways boardroom battles never taught me.
But this is a different kind of war.
And I welcome it.
