Page 116 of Her Orc Healer

Kazrek looked up, caught me watching him. The expression on his face was quiet, unreadable—and then not unreadable at all. Just content. Settled. Present.

He tilted his head. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I said, meaning it.

I crossed the room, leaned over to press a kiss to his brow, then one to Miren’s downy head. She smelled like milk and laundry and a little bit like road dust. Like something new.

“Where’s the map?” Kazrek asked quietly, as Maeve clattered back into the room behind us.

“Still hanging in the shop,” I said. “But we can move it.”

He nodded. “Might be time to pick a dot.”

A thrill ran through me—soft and quiet, but real. Not urgency. Not escape. Just possibility.

“Soon,” I said. “Maybe next spring.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. He reached for my hand without looking, threading our fingers together.

Behind us, Maeve sang her lullaby in a warble of made-up notes. Larka muttered something about murder if anyone touched her bun. Kazrek hummed under his breath as Miren stirred and settled again.

The fire crackled. The window fogged. And in the stillness between one heartbeat and the next, I realized we weren’t just surviving anymore.

We were living.

We were home.