Page 20 of Her Orc Healer

And then, Drev sighed. "Finn never thought things through, did she?" She drummed her fingers against the counter. "She just ran headfirst into trouble and hoped someone else would clean it up."

I stiffened.

Drev pressed on. “What are you even trying to protect, Ro?" she asked. "It’s not like you wanted any of this. Finn ruined your life, didn’t she? Dumped a kid on you before you even had a chance to live. Trapped you here. Left you with her mess—like she always did."

There it was—the ugliest truth.

I loved Maeve. That wasn’t even a question. I would never trade her, never undo the choice I had made to raise her.

But—

Had I ever truly forgiven Finn for making that choice for me?

For taking off into the world like it was hers for the taking, while I was left here, knee-deep in ink and responsibility?

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how.

A noise came from behind me—not loud, just the faint scrape of a footstep against wood. Slowly, I turned.

Maeve stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her wide, shining eyes locked onto mine—and I knew.

She had heard.

A lump rose in my throat, thick and heavy.

"May," I croaked, but her gaze glanced off me and fixed on Drev, who looked delighted.

"This must be her," she said in a light voice.

Maeve’s little hands clenched at her sides, her small frame nearly vibrating with fury. She wasn’t looking at me—wasn’t seeking comfort or reassurance. Her emerald eyes were locked onto Drev, burning with a rage I had never seen in her before.

“Stop talking about my mama,” she said, her voice lower than usual, tight with something I didn’t recognize.

Drev let out a short, amused huff, tilting her head as if Maeve were some curious little thing demanding attention. “Oh, come on, kid,” she drawled. “Your mama was a damned fool who didn’t know how to finish what she started.”

Maeve flinched at that, the muscles in her face twitching. I took a step forward, warning clear in my posture, but I didn’t take my eyes off Maeve.

Something was wrong.

The air had changed, charged with a strange weight. And Maeve—Maeve was standing so still, her hands trembling, and—

Shadows.

They curled at her fingers, thick like ink in water, twisting and writhing in slow, deliberate shapes. It wasn’t like her magic—her usual pale light, the flickering glow that danced like sunshine across walls and fingers. This was different. Darker. Heavier.

“Maeve,” I called gently, my pulse hammering in my throat.

She didn’t turn to me.

Drev kept smirking, oblivious. “Face it, kid. Your mama—”

“Stop talking about my mom!” Maeve’s scream cut through the shop like a blade.

And then, the magic burst.

The air warped with the force of it—an unseen pulse rippling outward from Maeve’s small frame with a deep, resonant hum. The shadows coiled, then lashed outward like grasping fingers.

There was a sharp, splintering crack.