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I swallow. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Another breath. Another beat.

He leans in slightly, but doesn’t touch me. His gaze flickers over my face like he’s reading something I haven’t written down.

“Neither am I,” he says.

And just like that, I feel it again.

That tension. That possibility. The crackle of something building between us like a storm just starting to roll in.

But then he steps back, grabs his clipboard.

“Dinner’s at six. Try not to scare the chef.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You should warn himyou’recoming.”

He smirks. “Touché.”

And then he’s gone.

I stand there for another full minute, staring at the slide that still reads “Conflict-Free Meal Planning” and wondering if I just dreamed that entire interaction.

Not just a secretary. Not just a meeting.

Maybe not just a job anymore either.

CHAPTER 8

TORACK

Imake my rounds through the camp, my conversation with Julie the previous day still churning through my mind. The girl has a way of getting to me, both good and bad. It’s not something I’m used to.

It clutters up my thoughts. So much so, that it takes something drastic to pull me back from them.

The sharp, eye-watering smell of chemical failure hits me five paces before I see the disaster. By the time I round the bend, it’s too late. There’s glitter in the grout.

Literal glitter.

The arts cabin foundation is frothing. Foam bubbles churn up from the base like a sugar-fueled swamp, coating the sideboards in a thick, iridescent sludge. It smells like burnt glue and toasted regret.

I grind my tusks, slowly, as I take in the three goblins standing in front of it—Groth front and center, arms crossed, looking like a toddler proud of a spilled cereal box.

“Boss,” Groth says cheerfully. “You’re early.”

I stop in front of the bubbling cement.

“You used shimmerdust.”

Groth lifts a shoulder. “Just a pinch.”

“You mixed shimmerdust with trollcrete,” I say flatly. “Which reactsviolentlywith organo-based substrates.”

“Experimental blend,” Groth replies, tapping the heel of his boot against the foundation’s edge. “I was testing a theory. Might make it self-leveling.”

Behind him, one of the junior goblins—Snert? Skid?—pipes up, “We think it’s trying to form a third tier.”

“A third tier ofwhat?” I snap, tension pulling in my face.