Page 15

JULIE

T he early morning fog curls low along the tree line, still clinging to the edges of camp like it doesn’t want to let go of the storm.

Dew glistens on the grass, coating everything in a shimmery wet sheen.

Even the wildflowers look a little drunk on the moisture—bowing under it like they partied too hard last night and are now questioning their life choices.

Kind of like me.

My boots squish faintly through the soft earth as I move along the outer path toward the admin tent.

The clipboard in my hands is already full—notes, updates, a sharpie list that’s half logistics and half aggressively written affirmations like YOU ARE A PROFESSIONAL, JULIE.

DO NOT GET DISTRACTED BY ORC MUSCLES. YOU’RE NOT GONNA DIE FROM ONE GOOD NIGHT OF SEX, STAY COOL.

Spoiler alert: It’s not helping.

Because here I am. Heart jittery. Lungs tight. Still hearing the way Torack whispered you already are last night. Still feeling the heat of his hands at my waist, his lips on my neck. Still seeing the way he looked at me like I wasn’t just helping hold his world together—I was his world.

And I’ve been pretending all morning like none of that happened.

Because I’m responsible.

I am the glue. The fixer. The overachiever. The girl who once laminated a schedule for her own break-up just to “streamline the grieving process.”

But now?

Now I’m the girl who fucked her boss and is trying to pretend her heart isn’t rewiring itself around the idea of a grumpy orc with kindness behind his scowl and a daughter who looks at me like I invented magic.

Speaking of magic...

“Julie!”

The voice cuts through my spiral like a ray of sunshine aimed squarely at my ribs.

I turn just in time to catch a blur of purple hoodie and messy braids barreling toward me down the gravel path from the art tent.

It’s Lillian, carrying something in both hands and wearing a look of triumph that makes my knees weak before she even opens her mouth.

“I made this for you!” she shouts, skidding to a halt like a tiny, freckled comet.

I blink, hands instinctively rising to accept her offering—which turns out to be a wild bouquet of… something. It’s an explosion of color and shape: daisies, thistles, bright blue campanulas, what I think is a sprig of mint, and… is that a stick of chewing gum?

She’s beaming.

“It’s a Lillian Special, for being so awesome,” she says. “And because Groth said you made my dad ‘less murdery’ yesterday.”

I choke. “Did he, now?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods. “He said Daddy smiled and didn’t growl once during morning rounds. And he didn’t even yell when the goblin crew tried to paint a raccoon on the side of the mess hall.”

I cough into my fist. “High praise.”

Lillian tilts her head. “Are you okay? You look all red in the face.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just, um, pollen.”

She shrugs and shoves the bouquet into my arms. “You’re my favorite grown-up, Jools.”

That nickname again.

“Not everyone gets the honor of a Lillian Special.”

“Oh?”I ask. “And may I ask what makes it special?” Other than it being offered from the sweetest kid I’ve ever met.

Shw beams proudly. “It’s special because it’s made of anything I think looks cool!”

“Well, that explains the caterpillar.”

I smile, but my heart is doing weird, fluttery things that make breathing kind of a chore. “Thanks, Lil. This is… wild and dangerous and probably contains three allergens, but it’s perfect.”

She beams. “I knew you’d like it.”

She grabs my hand with her tiny one and tugs me off the trail, dragging me toward the communal garden without warning.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“I have to show you my fairy trap!”

I laugh. “You built a trap ?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t worry. It’s humane. Just sparkly. I made it with string cheese and glitter glue.”

I try to stay present. I really do. But I can feel the tension building behind my eyes. The longer I walk with her, the more my carefully constructed denial house of cards wobbles.

Because the truth is—I’m not just fond of her.

I adore her.

And worse?

I’m starting to want things I have no right wanting.

Like falling asleep next to the sound of Torack’s voice instead of emails. Like helping Lillian with science homework. Like building a life here that isn’t just contracts and logistics and laminated policies but family dinners and fairy traps and someone who touches me like I’m something precious.

The garden is a riot of green and gold and color, overgrown in the way only magical spaces can be—like nature got bored of symmetry and just decided to vibe . Lillian leads me to a patch of overturned stepping stones, each one ringed in glitter and hollowed out like bait stations.

“This one’s the deluxe trap,” she explains proudly. “It’s got banana chips and emotional validation.”

I blink. “What?”

“I left a note that says ‘you are enough.’ Fairies like that. That’s what Daddy says when I get mad about coloring outside the lines.”

I sit down hard on the nearest rock.

It’s damp. I don’t care.

Because now I’m crying.

Not sobbing. Not noisy. Just tears leaking without permission while Lillian chatters about fairy etiquette and glowworm lighting strategies.

Because her dad—this battle-scarred, stoic orc—tells her she is enough.

Because she’s quoting it to me.

Because I kissed him last night, and somehow I think I’m already halfway in love with this place, this child, this impossible man, and I haven’t even let myself say it out loud.

Lillian looks up, frowning.

“Are you leaking?”

I laugh through the tears. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

She climbs into my lap without asking, settles there like she’s always belonged, and pulls my arms around her.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I leak sometimes, too. It’s not a bad thing.”

I nod, arms tightening around her. “No, sweetheart. It’s not.”

And just like that, all my denial cracks.

I’m not just pretending nothing happened with Torack.

I’m pretending like I haven’t already started building something here.

Something messy. Something real.

And now?

I think I want all of it.