Page 4 of Built Orc Tough
Ivy’s face does something between a grimace and a fake smile. “That’s... generous.”
Mira wisely hands me the tin and gives a quick wave. “I should go. I’ve got gnome-bane to distill before noon.”
“Careful with that,” I say. “Last time you brewed too hot, your eyebrows nearly caught fire.”
She flashes me a grin and disappears with a jangle of the front bell.
The moment she’s gone, Ivy rounds on me.
“Seriously?” she huffs. “You’re training interns now? In my shop?”
I raise a brow. “You planning to run flower classes in here?”
She scowls. “Not yet. But I might. AndifI did, I’d at least give you a heads-up.”
I set the balm down and wipe my hands on a cloth. “She’s not an intern. She’s a supplier. She’s young. She needs experience.”
“She needs to stop dripping gnome-bane near my lilies,” Ivy snaps. “They’re sensitive to trace alchemy.”
I look over at her—really look. She’s wound so tight her shoulders are practically at her ears. Even her hands are clenched like she's holding herself together with sheer force of will.
“You don’t have to keep everything perfect,” I say quietly.
She laughs. It’s sharp. “I’m not keeping anything perfect. I’m keeping itfunctional. Which apparently means fending off root-smelling apprentices and trying to stop you from turning this place into an alchemy den.”
I cross my arms. “This isn’t justyourplace.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she says, voice rising. “You think I don’t wake up every day and see your herbs taking overevery flat surface like creeping moss? That my aunt thought it was okay to just hand half my future over to someone who won’t even look me in the eye for more than two seconds unless we’re arguing?”
That lands heavier than it should.
I look down at my hands, at the green stains in my palms, at the life I’ve built from pieces no one wanted—scraps of moss and bark and leaf, made into something that heals.
I left a life of violence to be here. Left blood and bone and steel behind. And for what? So a woman with lipstick too sharp for this town could make me feel like I’m intruding in a place I’ve fought like hell to belong in?
“You want to know why I keep my head down?” I say, voice low, steady. “Because people like you look at me like I don’t belong until I prove otherwise. And sometimes even then.”
She falters.
Good.
I reach for my pestle and begin grinding elderflower again. The smell rises up—sharp, sweet, grounded.
“I’m not here to ruin your shop, Ivy,” I say. “But I won’t apologize for existing in it.”
She doesn’t say anything.
For a long time, we just stand there in silence, breathing the same air but not looking at each other. Like two trees growing on the same plot of land, roots tangled deep but branches turned in opposite directions.
Eventually, she turns and walks out. Doesn’t slam the door.
I keep grinding. The silence returns, but it’s not the good kind.
CHAPTER 3
IVY
It takes exactly two hours and fifteen minutes into my third day in Elderbridge for me to hit full meltdown mode. That’s a new record, even for me.
