Page 29

Groth retreats, muttering something about emotionally constipated orcs.

I exhale, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

Julie’s voice drifts over the clearing again. Confident. Bright. But there’s something else beneath it. Steel.

I haven’t seen her in two hours without a folder in hand or a mission on her face. She’s moving like she’s preparing for battle. Focused. Tight.

And I hate that I notice the change.

Hate more that it’s not just her efficiency I’m drawn to—it’s the fire. The quiet fury I can feel radiating off her even across the camp.

Something’s shifted.

She hasn’t spoken more than three words to me since breakfast. A clipped “meeting at noon” and “left you the vendor log” were the sum of our interactions. No banter. No sidelong glances. No wry little smirk when Groth says something ridiculous.

It’s like she’s flipped a switch. Locked something down.

And for some reason, that scares the hell out of me.

Because I’ve seen Julie passionate. I’ve seen her flustered. Even teetering on furious.

But this version? Controlled. Quiet. Intent.

This version is dangerous.

I stalk toward the central cabin, heart ticking harder than I want to admit. Halfway there, I spot her again—mid-discussion with Mira from comms, her fingers tapping rhythmically on a laminated schedule.

“Mira, I’ll reroute the check-in line through the east grove,” she’s saying. “Keeps us away from the mud zone, and I can redirect the staff kiosk setup while we’re at it.”

“Got it,” Mira says, visibly impressed. “You already redrew the site map?”

Julie hands her the folder. “Color-coded and contingency planned. If the board tries anything slippery, we’re already five steps ahead.”

Something cold drips down my spine.

Board?

Slippery?

Julie looks up then—just for a second—and our eyes meet.

There’s heat there. But not the usual kind. This isn’t the awkward tension from the storm cabin.

This is war-readiness.

And I know her well enough now to recognize that she’s about to do something big.

I intercept her as she turns down the main path.

“Wren,” I say.

She stops. Turns. “Torack.”

Formality. Not “Boss.” Not even “Hey.”

A wall I didn’t put there is now firmly in place.

“We need to talk,” I say, keeping my voice low.