Page 6

Chapter 5

B ut then, the next day, he came back.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

For a week now, Kazrek had been coming to the shop like clockwork.

Every day, around midday, the door would creak open, and there he’d be—one massive hand pushing it aside like it weighed nothing, the other holding a cloth-wrapped bundle that smelled better than anything I’d had in years.

He never asked if I’d eaten. Never made a show of it. Just set the food down, gave me that steady look, and waited. And, despite myself, I ate.

The three of us would sit together—Maeve practically vibrating with excitement as she unwrapped the parcels, Kazrek eating with the same quiet patience he seemed to do everything with, and me… pretending I wasn’t starting to look forward to it.

And then, after the meal was done, he’d stay—as long as he didn’t have any patients to tend to.

Some days, he only lingered long enough to make sure I actually ate before heading off to his clinic. Other days, when things were quiet, he stayed longer—and found things to do. Things I’d meant to get to for months but never had the time, the money, or the extra set of hands for.

The stuck drawer behind the counter? Fixed. The upstairs window that let in a winter draft? Sealed before the next cold night. The crate of supplies too heavy for me to move? He stacked them in the storage room without a word.

It wasn’t a big deal, though. He was helpful, sure. Reliable. Knew his way around a hammer. Maeve adored him. But I didn’t ask him to come. I didn’t expect him to stay. It was just… convenient. That’s all.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

So when the door opened today, I didn’t even glance up from my work.

"What did you bring this time?"

Silence.

No deep chuckle. No soft thump of a parcel hitting the counter. No steady footsteps across the floor.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

I looked up.

It wasn't Kazrek.

Drev stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she owned the place.

For a second, I just stared. It had been years since I’d seen her, but she hadn’t changed much—still tall and wiry, still dressed in dark, well-worn leathers that made her look more like a sellsword than anything else. A new scar split the skin just beneath her left eye, but the smirk curling her lips was the same.

And just like that, I was a girl again—standing behind Finn, watching as Drev spun another too-bold scheme, another reckless idea, another promise that ended in trouble.

The air in my shop felt tighter.

Drev’s smirk widened as she stepped inside, slow and unhurried, her fingers trailing along the doorframe. "Can’t believe you’re still here, little Ro."

My jaw tightened. "What do you want, Drev?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" she asked, feigning a pout as she wandered deeper into the shop. Her sharp gaze flicked over the shelves, the neat stacks of parchment, the rows of carefully labeled ink bottles.

I crossed my arms. "Funny. I don’t recall us being particularly close."

Drev let out a short, amused breath. "That’s fair."

"Are you in the market for some ink or parchment? If not, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time."

Drev chuckled, slow and knowing, like she was the only one in on a joke. "Oh, I don’t know. I think I might find something of value here after all."

Something in her tone made the hairs on my arms prickle.

I straightened. "Cut to the chase."

Her smirk sharpened. "Alright, then." She leaned against the counter, her fingers tapping idly against the wood. "I’m here to collect on a debt."

My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "Then you’ve come to the wrong place."

"See, that’s where we disagree." Her voice lowered, turning almost lazy. "Because your sister owes me. And since she’s not here to pay up, it falls to you."

I kept my expression blank, but my eyes flicked toward the back room, listening. No small footsteps. No curious voice piping up with a question. Maeve was still napping.

Good.

If she wanted a fight, I’d give her one.

"Finn’s been gone a long time, Drev." My voice was flat, unimpressed. "You’ll have to find someone else to shake down."

She laughed softly, shaking her head like I’d said something funny.

"Whatever Finn did, it’s got nothing to do with me."

"That’s where you’re wrong," Drev said. "Because debts don’t just disappear, Ro. Someone has to pay."

Her eyes flicked, just for a second, toward the back room, and a cold weight settled in my chest.

Because I knew Drev.

Not just as the girl who had grown up two streets over, the one who used to race Finn through the market stalls, stealing apples when they thought no one was looking. Not just as the reckless teenager who dragged my sister into trouble, laughing as they tumbled through the door at odd hours, breathless and wild-eyed.

I knew what she had been after the war.

It was four years ago. The war had ended, but the city still felt cracked—wards broken, supplies low, people rebuilding with whatever they had left. And Finn… Finn couldn’t sit still. Pregnant and pacing, chasing scraps of the life she'd had before. Or maybe chasing something else entirely.

Drev was still in the picture then, always at the edge. Smirking. Sharp-eyed. Bringing strange coin and stranger stories.

That night, I’d woken to voices outside the shop. Low. Urgent. Something about the tone scraped against my bones.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Finn whispered. Her voice was frayed at the edges.

“And yet,” Drev said, too calmly, “here you are.”

“It’s different now. I can’t be—” a pause, tight with something like fear. “I can’t.”

“You already were,” Drev said flatly. “You think backing out now makes a difference? You think that thing isn’t already set?”

I moved to the window, slow and quiet, heart thudding. The moonlight caught on something in Drev’s hands—a vial, maybe, or a charm.

“You said it would be controlled,” Finn said, quieter now. Almost pleading. “You said it would make me stronger.”

“It was controlled,” Drev hissed. “Until you panicked and ran. You opened the circle and left the gate swinging behind you.”

I never asked what gate they’d meant or what had slipped through it. I never asked Finn why, when she came back inside, she wrapped her arms around her belly like something might be stolen from inside her.

And now Drev was back. Looking at the back room like she already knew what had followed Finn home.

“You’re wasting your time,” I said. “Whatever Finn owed you, it left with her. I don’t have anything for you.”

Drev tilted her head, mouth twitching. “You sure about that? Because word is she left something behind. Something real important.”

Maeve’s face flashed in my mind unbidden. I kept my voice steady. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

Drev’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling. Not obvious. Just enough. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Some things have a way of circling back, Ro. Unfinished business doesn’t stay buried forever.”

Something inside me went cold. “You touch her,” I said, voice flat and iron-hard, “and they’ll be cleaning you out of the floorboards.”

Drev chuckled low. “Easy. I’m not here to start trouble.” Then, after a pause—just quiet enough to sting: “I’m here to make sure your sister’s mess doesn’t get worse.”

My jaw ached from how hard I clenched it.

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.

The shelf behind Drev—one of the heavy oak ones I’d reinforced last autumn—shuddered, then tipped.

She barely had time to stumble clear before it crashed to the floor with a thunderous crack. Glass shattered, ink burst in violent plumes, and a wave of color spilled across the wood—dark blues and reds bleeding together in chaotic swirls. Dust and parchment flew up in a choking cloud.

For a breath, there was only silence—broken by the slow drip of ink threading through the wreckage.

The door to the shop slammed open before the dust had even settled.

Kazrek filled the doorway like a storm, broad shoulders nearly brushing the frame, his sheer size making the space feel small. His eyes swept over the destruction— the broken jars, the overturned shelf, the haze of dissipating magic—before locking onto Drev.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t growl, didn’t bare his tusks, didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

He simply stepped inside, and suddenly, the space between Drev and me wasn’t empty anymore.

It was him .

A wall of unmoving certainty. Of quiet, undeniable strength. And of something deeper—something inherently orcish, something that made the fight drain from Drev’s posture before she even realized she’d surrendered it.

I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath.

Drev, to her credit, didn’t leap back like a startled deer. But her smirk had faltered, just a little.

"Is this your guard dog, Ro?" Her voice was breezy, but there was an edge to it now.

She didn’t look at him when she said it. Didn’t acknowledge him at all. Like he was nothing more than a brute. A weapon. A body built for taking orders and breaking things.

But he wasn’t. Seven save me, he was so much more than anyone gave him credit for. Smart. Controlled. Protective in a way that had nothing to do with orders and everything to do with choice.

And right now? Right now, standing there like an immovable force between me and Drev—he was devastatingly, unfairly sexy.

Kazrek didn’t speak. He just looked at her. Not threatening, not even overtly angry. Just watching, calculating, waiting to see if she was smart enough to leave on her own.

She was.

Drev clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she glanced back at me. "This isn’t over, little Ro.”

I forced my shoulders to stay squared. "It is for today."

Her smirk returned, thinner this time. "I’ll be in touch." And just like that, she was gone, slipping out the door with a lazy swagger that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kazrek turned, flipping the lock behind her with a decisive click.

The shop felt unnaturally quiet in the aftermath. The faint sound of laughter from outside—people going about their business, utterly oblivious to the storm that had just passed through—seemed distant, muffled.

I should have thanked him. I should have found the words to explain, to make sense of what had just happened.

But all I could see was Maeve.

She stood there, my sweet May, but she wasn't herself. The shadows still clung to her fingers like wisps of smoke, and her eyes weren't the warm green I knew. Something darker swirled in their depths, something that made my chest tight.

Fear .

I was afraid of my own niece.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, and Maeve must have seen it in my face. The way I hesitated. The way I didn't reach for her, didn't try to comfort her like I always had before.

Her small face crumpled, anger giving way to something raw and wounded. Without a word, she spun and fled, her footsteps thundering up the back stairs to our living quarters. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the remaining bottles on the shelves.

I flinched at the sound.

"I don't—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and tried again, turning to Kazrek. "I don't know what to do."

The admission cost me. I never admitted to not knowing, to not being able to handle things on my own. But standing there, surrounded by shattered glass and spreading pools of ink, watching shadows curl where they shouldn't exist—I was lost.

Kazrek studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he shrugged off his outer coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the swirling tattoos that marked his forearms.

"First," he said, voice steady and sure, "we clean up what we can see." He reached for a broom in the corner. "Then we deal with what we can't."

I exhaled slowly, nodding. It made sense. It was something to hold onto. But as I bent to gather the shattered remains of an ink bottle, my fingers shook.

Because the mess on the floor? That, I could handle.

It was the darkness in Maeve’s eyes that left me trembling.