Page 5

Chapter 4

T he ledger wasn't going to balance itself.

I squinted at the columns of numbers, willing them to make sense. They blurred slightly at the edges—probably because I'd been staring at them for hours, not because I was still tired. Definitely not because a certain orc healer had been right about me needing rest.

"Ro?" Maeve's voice drifted up from beneath my desk, where she'd been contentedly destroying scraps of parchment for the better part of an hour. "Can I have more paper?"

"What happened to the stack I gave you?"

A guilty shuffle. "I made birds."

I glanced down. Sure enough, the floor around her was littered with crumpled attempts at origami—lopsided creatures that looked more like wadded missiles than anything avian. But her eyes were bright with creative determination, and really, what was a few scraps of parchment compared to keeping her occupied?

"Third drawer," I said, rubbing my temples.

She scrambled up, practically vibrating with excitement as she yanked open the drawer. A few sheets fluttered to the floor, but I didn't have the energy to scold her.

My mind drifted, unbidden, to the way Kazrek had watched her yesterday—patient, attentive, like her excitement over simple things was worth his full attention.

I shook my head sharply. No. I was not thinking about Kazrek.

I especially wasn't thinking about his hands—steady and sure as they'd gripped my elbow, warm against my skin. Or his voice—that low rumble that seemed to settle in my bones. Or the way his presence had filled the entire room, making everything else feel...

"Stop it," I muttered, pressing my palms against my eyes.

This was ridiculous. I didn't have time for this. I barely had time to sleep, let alone... whatever this was. These intrusive thoughts about a man I barely knew. A very large, very capable man with surprisingly gentle hands and—

I exhaled sharply and dropped my hands to the desk. I needed to focus.

Once, a man had told me I was difficult to love. He had wanted more from me than I had to give. More softness, more time, more space in my life for things that weren’t survival. I’d let him go without much regret.

That was how it always went. Men came and went but were never important enough to hold my attention for long. My life had never allowed for it. Something else always demanded my focus—the shop, Maeve, the endless list of things that needed doing.

Unlike my sister, I had always been the practical one. While Finola chased romance and adventure with reckless abandon, I kept my feet firmly planted. I ran the shop, kept the books, made sure the ink flowed and the doors stayed open. There was no time for impulsive love affairs, no room for whispered promises that would only be broken when responsibility pulled me elsewhere.

And yet here I was, losing time in the middle of the day—valuable time—thinking about the weight of an orc’s hands on my skin.

Absolutely not.

I shook myself, grabbing my quill and forcing my focus back to the numbers. They still blurred slightly, but I ignored it. This was my life. My work. Not... him.

The bell over the shop door jingled.

I didn’t even look up. "Welcome," I called absently, still trying to wrangle the figures into something that resembled balance.

Silence.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the door’s lock turning.

That got my attention.

I snapped my head up just in time to see Kazrek flipping the sign on the door to CLOSED.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. He turned toward me, completely unbothered, holding something wrapped in cloth that smelled absolutely divine. His dark eyes met mine, steady as ever.

I found my voice. "What. Are. You. Doing."

He held up the bundle of food like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Bringing you lunch."

I stared at him, my carefully constructed thoughts crumpling like one of Maeve’s paper birds. "You can't just—" I sputtered, but Maeve's delighted squeal drowned out my protests.

"Kazrek!" She launched herself from behind the desk. "Did you bring food? Is it special orc food? Can I try it?"

He caught her mid-leap with one massive hand, steadying her before she could crash into his legs. "Careful, zuzu’rak ." His voice held that same quiet patience from yesterday. "Yes to all three questions."

I pushed to my feet, arms crossed. "This is completely inappropriate. The shop—"

"—can survive a lunch break." Kazrek set the bundle on my desk, unwrapping it to reveal several cloth-wrapped parcels that released waves of rich, savory scents. "From Grok's kitchen in the market. Best grakthul in Everwood."

Maeve peered at the parcels with unrestrained curiosity. "What's grakthul ?"

"Spiced meat wrapped in flatbread." Kazrek's hands moved with practiced efficiency, laying out the food. "With roasted vegetables and herb sauce."

My stomach betrayed me with an audible growl. The aroma was mouthwatering—nothing like the plain bread and cheese I usually grabbed between customers when I remembered to eat at all.

"But what if someone needs—"

"Then they'll come back later." Kazrek's tone brooked no argument. He pulled three plates from somewhere in his coat—had he actually planned this?—and began portioning out the food. "Sit."

I remained standing, torn between irritation and something dangerously close to appreciation. “What about your clinic? Don’t you have patients to see?”

Kazrek didn’t even glance up as he unwrapped another bundle of food. "Most of my patients don’t come until evening." He set a portion onto a plate, pausing for a beat before adding, "They work long hours and can’t afford a midday visit. Emergencies find me when they need to."

I frowned, turning that over in my mind. The phrasing was carefully neutral, but the meaning was clear. His patients weren’t the sort who had the luxury of scheduled appointments.

"Ro!" Maeve tugged at my skirt, eyes wide and pleading. "Please? It smells so good!"

I looked down at her eager face, then at the meticulously arranged food, then at Kazrek's steady, unperturbed expression. He wasn't even looking at me anymore, focused on carefully cutting Maeve's portion into smaller pieces.

My resolve crumbled.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair. "But just this once."

The grakthul was unlike anything I'd tasted before—rich with spices, the meat tender enough to melt on my tongue. The flatbread was warm and soft, perfect for soaking up the herb sauce that threatened to drip down my wrists.

I tried not to show how much I enjoyed it. And failed miserably.

Kazrek ate with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to do everything else, answering Maeve's endless stream of questions between bites.

"But why are your teeth different?" she asked, sauce smeared across her chin.

"Tusks," he corrected. "All orcs have them. Makes it easier to tear through tough meat."

"Can I have tusks?"

A low rumble that might have been a chuckle. "No. But you have other gifts."

As if on cue, the paper birds scattered around her feet rustled—then rose into the air, spinning lazily like autumn leaves caught in an invisible breeze. Maeve's eyes lit up, her magic responding to her delight.

I tensed, ready to explain, to make excuses. But Kazrek merely watched the floating origami with mild interest, completely unfazed.

"Good control," he said, as if levitating paper was the most natural thing in the world.

Maeve beamed. "Can you do magic?"

"Some." He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Different kind. Healing magic."

"Can you show me?"

"Maeve," I cut in, "let him eat."

But Kazrek just shrugged, setting down his food. He held out one broad palm, and a soft green glow emanated from his skin—gentle, nothing like the wild spark of Maeve's magic. It pulsed once, twice, then faded.

Maeve's eyes went wide. "Pretty! What does it do?"

"Mends broken things,” he said quietly. "Bones, mostly. Sometimes other hurts."

Something in his tone made me look up. For a moment, I saw something deeper in his eyes—something old and heavy. But before I could read more into it, he blinked, and the moment was gone.

"More questions after eating," he said, nodding toward Maeve's barely-touched food.

She pouted but complied, attacking her grakthul with renewed enthusiasm. I watched as Kazrek passed her a cloth to wipe her sauce-covered hands.

"You seem practiced at this," I said before I could stop myself.

Kazrek glanced up, one eyebrow raised slightly. "At what?"

I nodded toward Maeve, who was now meticulously arranging her vegetables into patterns on her plate. "Children."

He was quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. "Had younger siblings," he said finally. "Long time ago."

Something in his tone—a subtle weight, barely there—made me hesitate before asking more. Instead, I focused on my food, painfully aware of his presence across the table. The way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than should be possible. The careful precision of his movements, like someone who knew exactly how much strength he possessed and chose to be gentle anyway.

"They aren't in Everwood?" I asked. "Your family?"

"No. Those who survived the war..." He paused, taking another bite. "Most live in the northern clan lands now. Though my sister Larka works the docks in Port Haven with her husband."

"The war?" Maeve perked up, momentarily distracted from her food art. "Were you a soldier?" she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Started as one." His voice held that same careful distance. "Ended as a battlefield medic."

"How did you end up here in Everwood?" I asked.

Kazrek took his time answering, methodically wiping sauce from his fingers. "After the war… I wandered for a while. Tried to outrun things that couldn't be outrun." His eyes flickered briefly to the window, as if seeing something beyond the glass. "Everwood wasn't planned. Just... stopped here one day. Found people who needed healing. Stayed."

"Just like that?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice.

He shrugged one massive shoulder.

Maeve, who had been following the conversation with rapt attention, piped up. "Did you fight bad guys in the war?"

I opened my mouth to stop her but Kazrek answered before I could.

"There were bad things," he said carefully. "Dark magic. Corruption. But most people..." He paused, choosing his words. "Most were just scared. Trying to protect what mattered to them."

"Is that why you became a healer?" Maeve asked. "To help scared people?"

"Partly," he said slowly. "Mostly... saw too much breaking. Wanted to try putting things back together instead."

His words struck closer than I liked. I understood. Maybe too well. I'd spent years trying to hold a broken life together—after Father, after Finn—trying to make something whole out of the pieces.

"And your family?" Kazrek's question pulled me from my thoughts. "Besides Maeve?"

I tensed slightly, fingers tightening around my flatbread. "It’s just us now." The words came out shorter than I intended. "Father passed three years ago. Mother before the war."

"And my mama went away," Maeve added matter-of-factly, still focused on arranging her vegetables into intricate patterns.

Kazrek's gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he watched as I mechanically wiped sauce from my fingers, waiting for me to continue or deflect.

I surprised myself by choosing the former.

"My sister, Finn—Finola—she..." I paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound bitter. "She had other dreams. Bigger ones than Everwood could hold."

"She left Maeve with you."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "A few years ago. No warning, no explanation. Just..." I glanced at Maeve, making sure she was still absorbed in her food art. "Just gone."

Kazrek was quiet for a moment, his eyes steady on mine. "You stepped in."

"Of course I did." The words came out fierce, defensive.

"Mm." He nodded slightly, as if I'd confirmed something. "The responsible one."

I bristled. "Someone has to be."

"True." His voice held no judgment, just that same steady certainty. "But responsibility doesn't mean doing everything alone."

Heat crawled up my neck. "I manage just fine."

"Until you collapse in the market."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued before I could.

"Running yourself into the ground won't help anyone." His eyes flicked to Maeve, then back to me. "Especially not her."

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, focusing on gathering the empty plates just to have something to do with my hands.

"I appreciate your concern," I said stiffly, "but I know my limits."

Kazrek made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything. He rose from his chair, and before I could protest, he was gathering dishes alongside me.

I moved faster, stacking the plates with more force than necessary, trying to end this before it became something too intimate—too familiar. But my fingers fumbled, and one of the plates slipped.

Before it could shatter, Kazrek’s hand shot out, catching it effortlessly.

I wasn’t prepared for how close he was.

His broad, solid chest was nearly flush against my back, his arm bracketing me in as he steadied the dish on the table. The air between us grew heavy, thick with something unsaid. I could hear his breath, steady and calm, while mine had turned shallow, unsteady.

I needed to step forward. To move away.

But for one long, unbearable second, I just stood there, acutely aware of the warmth radiating off him, the sheer size of him behind me. He wasn’t even touching me. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

Too much.

I jerked forward abruptly, breaking the moment with a muttered, “Thanks.” I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Kazrek didn’t comment. He simply set the plate down, moving past me like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t in complete disarray inside my own skin.

I hated it. Hated that he was completely unbothered while my pulse thrummed too fast, while my thoughts tangled into something sharp and unfamiliar.

I gathered the remaining dishes, forcing my hands to stay steady. The sooner this was done, the sooner everything would go back to normal.

If normal even existed anymore.

Once everything was picked up, Kazrek stepped toward the door, pausing just before opening it. “I’ll be back.”

I exhaled through my nose, gripping the edge of the table like it might steady something inside me. "You don't need to."

Kazrek’s gaze flicked to me, unreadable. "I know." And then, as if that explained everything, he waved to Maeve and opened the door.

The outside air rushed in, stirring the loose parchment on my desk. He stepped onto the cobbled street, his broad frame briefly shadowing the doorway. For a moment, I thought he might say something else—something that would keep tugging at the threads of whatever it was he had started unraveling in me. But he just nodded, a small, deliberate motion, and disappeared into the afternoon bustle.

I stood there, staring at the door long after it had swung shut.

Maeve, still seated at the table, broke the silence with a satisfied sigh. "That was good," she declared, licking the last traces of sauce from her fingers. "Kazrek should bring us lunch every day."

I let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through my hair. "That is not happening."

"Why not?" she asked innocently, tilting her head. "You liked it."

I scowled at her, but the look barely fazed her. She grinned, kicking her legs under the table. "You did," she insisted, sing-song.

I didn’t dignify her impish observation with a response. Instead, I busied myself gathering the last of the parchment scraps from the floor, trying to rein in whatever clamor of thoughts Kazrek had left in his wake.

Because Maeve wasn’t entirely wrong.

It wasn’t just the meal. It was the blunt way Kazrek had inserted himself into my routine without hesitation, like my resistance didn’t matter. Like he had already decided I needed looking after, no matter how much I argued. And worse—worse—was the fact that I didn’t immediately want to shove that concern away.

That was dangerous.

I dropped the last of the parchment birds into the rubbish bin, sighed, and turned back to Maeve. “Go wash up.”

She slid out of her chair with a dramatic groan and started up the stairs to our little apartment over the ink shop. Even as she went, she hummed under her breath—some wandering little tune she often made up on the spot when she was content. And right now, she was undoubtedly content.

Because of him.

I straightened the disheveled papers still scattered across the desk, trying not to think about the impossibility of Kazrek. His quiet steadiness, his unyielding patience. The way he moved through space, staying firm but never overbearing. How easily Maeve trusted him, clung to him like he was something safe.

Something stable.

I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more—that she had already welcomed him so effortlessly or that a small, treacherous part of me wanted to follow suit.

But I knew better than to lean on anyone. People left. My father, my sister, every fleeting attempt at connection I’d ever known. Even the ones who stayed always left in some way—pieces breaking off, drifting where I couldn’t follow.

Kazrek wouldn’t be different. No matter how solid he seemed now, eventually, he’d find the edge of this life and walk away like the rest of them.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, pressing my palms into the edge of the desk. Dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. Kazrek had inserted himself into my life for reasons that made no sense, and sooner or later, he’d realize he was wasting his time.