Page 11 of Her Orc Healer

Kazrek said nothing, just waited.

Finally, with a huff of irritation, I sank into the chair.

His approval was silent. He stepped closer and reached for my arm. I stiffened as his fingers brushed against my skin, warm and calloused, but he didn’t hesitate, pressing two fingers to the inside of my wrist.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He tilted his head slightly, unreadable. “Your pulse is weak.”

“That’s normal,” I said with a scowl.

“It isn’t.” He didn’t loosen his grip, his thumb now tracing idle circles over the inside of my wrist, like he was listening, measuring. “When did you last eat?”

I looked away. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Kazrek made a low, disapproving sound. “It’s relevant if you’re collapsing in the middle of the market.”

Heat crawled up my throat. I hated this. Hated being assessed like an unfinished draft, my weaknesses noted in the margins. But Kazrek didn’t look smug, didn’t look like he was savoring some quiet victory over my frailty. He was just watching. Measuring. Unshaken.

“How many hours of sleep?” he asked, his voice the same even baritone.

I exhaled sharply. “Enough.”

“Try again.”

I glared at him. He didn’t flinch.

I thought about lying, but something about Kazrek made dishonesty feel pointless. His dark eyes stayed locked on mine, steady, expectant. Not unkind.

“Four,” I muttered at last. "Maybe."

Something almost like amusement flickered across his sharp features. “Four is not enough.”

I scowled, pulling my hand back instinctively, but he held on for half a second longer before releasing me. My skin still tingled where his fingers had been. I curled my hand into a fist in my lap.

“I don’t have the luxury of sleeping in,” I snapped, irritation flaring to cover whatever else I was feeling.

"Not many people do," Kazrek said, pushing to his feet. He towered over me, making me feel uncharacteristically small. "But not many people work themselves to exhaustion, either."

I bristled. “What would you have me do?"

Kazrek’s expression didn’t change. He reached for a steaming cup on the nearby table and pressed it into my hands, his fingers brushing mine. “Drink.”

I didn’t move. My pride screamed at me to push back, to remind him that I had survived just fine without the unsolicited concern of an orc healer. But my bones still felt hollow, my limbs too light, my head too full of cotton.

So I inhaled the sharp, herbal scent curling from the cup and took a slow sip.

Bitter heat spread through my chest, settling into my stomach with surprising comfort. The tension knotting my shoulders loosened—just the smallest degree.

Kazrek leaned against the nearby counter, arms crossed, watching me with an unsettling stillness. “What do you think will happen if you slow down?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh, staring into the cup rather than meeting his gaze.

He said nothing for a moment, then: “The world won’t fall apart if you take a lunch break.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “If you take a walk around the neighborhood with your niece. If you sleep in now and then.”

My throat tightened.

Because he was wrong.