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TORACK

I don’t realize I’m staring at her until Groth says something stupid and I have to pretend I didn’t miss half the meeting.

Again.

Julie’s across the clearing, mid-conversation with the grounds team, animated and focused.

She’s pointing at the south boundary on the oversized camp map, gesturing with her entire arm like she’s painting direction into the air itself.

A lock of hair’s fallen from her braid and it dances along her cheek with every movement.

And I can’t look away.

“What if we repurpose the north supply shed?” Groth repeats beside me. “Or we can just enchant it into a pop-up taco stand. Multi-functional. Think of the morale.”

I grunt. “No tacos.”

“Harsh,” Groth mutters, making a note anyway.

I cross my arms and look back toward Julie. She’s still talking, now crouched near the trail entrance with one of the teen volunteers, showing them how to reflag the safety markers. She’s not just giving instructions—she’s teaching . Investing. Making every moment feel like it matters.

And the worst part?

It does .

Julie matters.

More than I’m comfortable admitting.

She’s threaded herself into the pulse of this place without asking.

Without demanding. She just fit . Where I’d been bracing for conflict, she stepped in with clipboards and structure.

With follow-through. With kindness that wasn’t fragile.

And somehow—without magic—she’s enchanted the very structure of this camp.

And now?

I need her.

More than I expected. More than I want to.

And that pisses me off.

Because I built my life on control. On being the one who doesn’t falter. Doesn’t depend. Doesn’t want .

And then she walked in with her sarcastic commentary and ink-stained to-do lists, and I haven’t had a steady thought since.

“Boss?” Groth says again, eyeing me like I might combust.

I blink. “What?”

“You just rejected tacos and forgot to insult my construction estimates. Are you dying?”

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Go check the storm drain filters.”

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.

Her chin lifts. “About?”

“You’ve been moving like you’re planning a siege.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “Maybe I am.”

“Julie—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I work for you. That’s all.”

“No,” I growl. “That’s not what this is about.”

She stares at me, arms crossed. “Then what is it about?”

I hesitate, because I don’t have a clean answer. Not one that fits in a meeting memo.

“You’re hiding something,” I say instead.

She doesn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

“Is it something I should know?”

“Are you asking as my boss or... something else?”

That pause is deliberate. And it burns.

I move closer. Close enough to see the lines of tension at the corners of her mouth. “Julie, talk to me.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment—like she’s weighing the risk.

Then she says, softly, “I heard Renault. In the conference cabin. He’s making moves. Real ones. He wants to rebrand. Strip it down. Build luxury units in the north quarter. Push out the original mission. Push you out.”

I blink.

The ground shifts under me.

“What?”

“I heard everything,” she says. “Including how he called me your distraction.”

A silence stretches between us, thick with everything I should have seen.

Julie exhales. “I’ve already started preparing a resistance. Gathering documents. Re-mapping logistics. If we’re going to stop him, we need a plan.”

“We?” I ask.

She meets my gaze again. “I’m not letting them take this place.”

I take a breath.

And then another.

Because she’s right.

And because the wave of relief that hits me—knowing I’m not alone in this—is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

“Julie,” I say, quieter now, “I need you.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“Not just for paperwork. Not just for efficiency.” I pause, the words scraping out. “You’re part of this place now. You’re part of…”

She swallows, visibly flustered, but she doesn’t look away. “That doesn’t change what’s coming.”

“No,” I agree. “But it changes how we face it.”