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“I don’t have time to fall apart, Julie.”

“No one said you had to fall apart,” she replies, stepping in front of me. “But you also don’t have to grit your tusks into gravel every time someone screws up.”

I don’t answer.

She watches me for another moment, then sighs. “Let me guess. This was supposed to be the one thing today thatdidn’texplode.”

“It was a small ask.”

“Which means the universe said no.”

My jaw tightens. “Groth’s good at what he does. But he needs boundaries. Hard ones.”

Julie nods. “Then give him boundaries. Just don’t give yourself a hernia in the process.”

I turn toward her. “Are you always this calm when the ground’s melting?”

“Only when I’m trying to keep you from flipping a picnic table.”

I pause. “I wasn’t going to flip anything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re two seconds from bench-launching rage.”

I glare, but not at her.

Then she does something unexpected.

She gently nudges my elbow with hers. “C’mon, Big Bad. Let me get you coffee before you start breathing fire.”

I look at her. Really look.

There’s paint on the edge of her shoe, ink smudged on her thumb, and a look in her eyes that tells me she’s already calculated how long it’ll take to fix this mess and reschedule the entire investor preview around it. She’s steady, but not cold. Organized, but not distant.

And she’s standing next to me like she belongs there.

“You’re too good at this,” I say.

She smiles faintly. “I’ve been told I make an excellent disaster wrangler.”

“No,” I say, softer. “You makemebetter at it.”

Julie blinks. “Torack…”

But before either of us can say more, Groth yells from the edge of the site.

“Boss! We got it contained! Sort of! I mean, it's twitching, but not maliciously!”

I sigh. “Define ‘maliciously.’”

“It hasn’t eaten anyone!”

“Yet!” chimes in another goblin helpfully.

Julie snorts. “I’ll get the investor list ready. You handle the sentient cement.”

I grunt. “I preferred the spreadsheets.”

“You’re lying.”