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TORACK

T hey whisper when I pass.

It starts subtle. A pause in conversation. A glance over shoulders. That odd cadence people get when they’re pretending they weren’t just talking about you.

At first, I think it’s about the new mage wards, or the incident with the supply goblin who tried to freeze-dry the camp kitchen’s entire inventory. Again.

But then Groth drops a stack of split logs at my feet, grinning like a sabertooth who found honey. “You hear what they’re saying?”

I grunt. “I usually don’t care.”

“Oh, you’ll care about this.”

He wipes his hands on a rag. “Camp thinks you and Julie are a thing now.”

I blink. “A what?”

“A thing. Like… a capital-R Relationship. Lovebirds. Attached at the horns.”

I stare at him. “Because she’s competent?”

“Because she’s everything you’re not and you haven’t shut up about her in days.”

“I don’t talk that much.”

Groth laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“It’s not true,” I say.

Groth shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t be.”

I pick up the axe. “I have work to do.”

“Don’t split your feelings like you split that wood, boss.”

I ignore him. Mostly.

But later, when Julie walks by wearing that threadbare camp sweatshirt and a glitter sticker on her cheek courtesy of Lillian, I find myself watching her a beat too long.

The rumors don’t go away.

If anything, they get worse.

A fairy calls me “Papa-in-Law” under her breath and flutters off cackling. Lillian asks me what color dress she should wear to our “wedding.” One of the elder dryads leaves a fertility rune under my soup bowl.

I bring it to Julie. “Did you put them up to this?”

She snorts. “Oh yeah, I bribed half the staff and a forest deity for a camp-wide prank. How’d you guess?”

I scowl. “It’s inappropriate.”

“It’s flattering.”

“It’s distracting.”

“It’s only distracting because you’re thinking about it.”

That stops me cold.

Julie raises a brow, too smug by half.

“I’m not,” I mutter.

“Sure you’re not.”

She walks off, ponytail swinging like she knows exactly what she just did.

And maybe she does.

The problem is, the rumors get into my head.

They wedge in like burrs in a boot: annoying at first, then maddening once you realize they’ve been there for hours. Because the thing is… it’s not a bad idea. Julie’s smart. She’s kind. She cares about Lillian. She’s made this camp stronger, lighter.

She makes me want to be better. That should be terrifying.

Instead, it just feels inevitable.

I find myself wandering through the village market a few days later.

It’s an errand run—basic supplies, updated spell scrolls, new boots for Lillian because she outgrew the old ones overnight again.

But then I pass Old Noma’s cart.

She sells baubles. Trinkets. Bits of jewelry made from river glass and sunstone and iron melted from meteorites.

And there, in the middle of a velvet-lined tray, is a ring.

Simple. Forged from darksteel with a knotwork inlay. Sturdy. Unfussy. Beautiful in a way that reminds me of Julie.

I don’t touch it.

Not yet.

But I ask the price.

And I walk away with a small box in my pocket and my heart pounding like I just leapt from a dragon’s spine. Lillian is the first one who notices.

Not the box. I’m not that careless. But she senses something. Kids are good like that. Better than adults, even.

We’re sitting under the canopy outside the mess hall, sharing a plate of overly seasoned root chips she insists taste like “peppery dragons,” when she squints at me and says, “You’re being weird.”

I grunt. “I’m always weird.”

“No, you’re being the quiet kind of weird. Like when you’re trying not to yell about plumbing leaks.”

I glance sideways. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the moment.”

She narrows her eyes like a tiny, suspicious warlock. “You never enjoy root chips without a reason. What happened?”

“I went to the village.”

“And?”

“I bought things.”

“For camp?”

“For you.”

Her eyes go wide. “Did you get me the boots with the unicorn laces?”

I shake my head. “The ones with actual horn dust were banned after the incident with the pixie council.”

“Ugh, boring.”

She grabs another chip. “Did you get anything for Julie?”

The question lands so hard I almost choke on my own chip.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would I?—?”

“Because you like her.”

I stare at her. “I tolerate her.”

Lillian gasps, scandalized. “You love her!”

“Keep your voice down.”

She leans in, whispering dramatically. “Did you get her a present?”

“I bought socks.”

“You never buy socks unless it’s serious.”

“I buy socks to avoid frostbite.”

She pauses, chewing thoughtfully. Then, with the serenity of a philosopher king, she says, “If you marry her, I get to call her Mom.”

I sputter. “That is not how it works.”

“Groth said she already bosses you like one.”

“She coordinates me. Professionally.”

“She kisses you yet?”

I blink. “That’s not any of your business.”

She grins. “That means no. Are you gonna kiss her?”

“Lillian!”

Lillian gasps again. “Is this secret courtship?! Is this what the romance novels talk about? Groth lent me one with pirates?—”

“That’s enough.”

She cackles, totally unrepentant. “She’d say yes.”

“Lillian.”

“She already says yes to everything. She only yells when you’re being dumb. And she tells me I’m brave.”

That part softens me, whether I want it to or not.

“She’s not like Mom,” she says. “But she’s… good.”

I reach over and ruffle her hair.

“You’re a menace,” I mutter.

“You’re in love,” she singsongs.I don’t sleep that night.

I sit on the porch of the cabin, the box in my hand, watching the stars blink overhead like they know something I don’t.

The camp is quiet, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the magical hum of the perimeter wards adjusting for wind.

I think about what Lillian said. About Julie.

About us. And I realize she’s right. I am in love.

Which means I need to do something about it.