Page 29

TORACK

T here’s a sound I never thought I’d hear again in this place.

Laughter. Real laughter.

Not nervous chuckles from overworked contractors or the half-hearted kind you give in meetings to smooth tension.

I mean belly-deep, wild, too-loud joy. Children shrieking in play as they tumble down the wild grass hill by the central field.

Pixie twins chasing a centaur colt with a stream of enchanted bubble spells.

A pair of goblins playing tug-of-war with a snake that looks suspiciously enchanted.

And no one’s fighting. No one’s bleeding. It’s chaos, yeah, but it’s the kind we planned for. The kind we dreamed of. The kind that feels like victory.

I stand just off the main path, arms crossed, boots sunk firm into the mossy ground. The official camp banners flap behind me, their edges still too crisp, like they’re waiting for stories to give them meaning. Everything smells like pine sap and toasted marshmallows.

It’s a miracle the fae didn’t hex the kitchen after that honey incident last week.

But it’s working.

All of it. They came. The kids. The counselors. The village parents. The investors. The holdouts. All of ’em. We did it. She did it.

Julie’s down near the creek, surrounded by a swirl of campers, one of whom—an orange-skinned goblin with a voice like a foghorn—is currently mid-meltdown over a stolen satchel.

“No one’s listening!” he howls. Julie doesn’t flinch. She crouches to his level, eyes sharp and soft all at once.

“Alright, buddy,” she says. “Let’s untangle this. You tell me what happened, and we’ll make sure your satchel’s safe, yeah?”

He sniffs. “They took it!”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

He points dramatically at a trio of laughing dryads. Julie glances over, then back at him with the calm of someone who’s survived budget meetings with trolls and sleepovers with Lillian.

“Let’s go ask them together. But no yelling this time. You got it?” The goblin nods.

Julie takes his hand. And I feel something shift in my chest. Not new, exactly.

Just… clearer. I’ve loved her for a long time.

But watching her here, in it, doing the work with that ridiculous clipboard and that unbreakable heart—I feel proud in a way I can’t describe.

Like I’m watching someone become what they were always meant to be.

“You’re staring again,” Groth says, stepping up beside me with a plate full of skewered eel and roasted turnips.

“I’m watching.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s got the goblin handled.”

“She always does.” I grunt.

Groth elbows me gently. “You gonna tell her again?”

“I already proposed.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say I love you. Out loud.”

I shake my head.

“What? Don’t get shy now. You’re engaged. Use your words.”

“I’m not shy.”

“You are in love, my guy.”

We linger near the fire after the kids drift off toward their cabins. Julie tugs her sweatshirt sleeves down over her hands, standing close to the flames.

“You know,” she says, “I never thought I’d end up here.”

“At this camp?”

She chuckles. “No, in this world. Surrounded by spell-happy kids, wearing pine-sap in my hair, engaged to a grumpy orc who makes my knees go weak.”

I smirk. “I’m not that grumpy.”

“You glared at a cookie for five full minutes earlier.”

“It was a suspicious cookie.”

“You make me feel… seen,” she says. “Like I can be messy and loud and still worth something.”

“You’re worth everything.”

She turns, eyes shining. “You’re not just saying that because I fixed the enchanted plumbing, right?”

“That’s just a bonus.”

“Say it again,” she whispers.

“What?”

“What you said earlier.”

I take her hand and hold it over my chest.

“I love you, Julie Wren. Fiercely. Entirely. Probably stupidly.”

She laughs, then cries, then laughs again, her forehead resting against mine. “I love you too,” she breathes. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

We sit on a log near the fire pit long after most of the kids have drifted off, their laughter echoing faintly through the trees like the tail end of a spell.

Julie leans against my shoulder, and I rest my cheek against the top of her head.

Her hair smells like marshmallow ash and pine, and I’d bottle it if I could.

“You know,” she murmurs, voice almost drowned out by the low pop of embers, “I used to think I wanted sleek. Corporate. Something with clean lines and scheduled breaks.”

I huff. “You came to the wrong forest.”

She chuckles. “Apparently, I came to the right life.” Her fingers toy with mine—absent, instinctual. There’s no tension anymore. No hesitancy. Just her and me and the fire and a world we helped fix. “Do you ever think,” she continues softly, “that love sneaks up on you when you’re not ready?”

“All the time.”

She looks up at me. “And you don’t regret it? Us?”

“Julie.” I sit up just enough to see her clearly. “You could paint glitter on my tusks and I wouldn’t regret a damn thing.”

She laughs, real and bright. “Tempting.”

We’re interrupted by the thundering of tiny feet. Lillian, wide-eyed and wrapped in her favorite patchwork blanket, plops down beside us with no preamble.

“Someone tried to hex the honey again,” she announces, dramatic. “The kitchen is in chaos. I’m hiding.”

Julie blinks. “Wait, right now?”

“It’s under control,” Lillian adds. “Probably.”

I pull her into my lap and kiss the top of her head. “Glad to see you’re still reporting emergencies like a general.”

“I learned from the best.” She beams, looking between us. “Also, I wanted to be here for the smooches.” Julie gives me a sideways look, one brow raised.

“Well?” she says. I lean in and kiss her—slow, soft, no fireworks or frenzy. Just two people who know exactly what they’ve found in each other. Lillian squeals.

“GROSS. But yay!” She flops dramatically back onto the log, arms spread wide like she’s claiming the stars.

Julie snuggles closer. “Is this what you pictured when you started all this?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I thought we’d build a camp. Maybe fix a few things. I didn’t know we’d build a life.”

Julie is quiet for a moment, then whispers, “Me neither.”

And in the flickering firelight, with my daughter dozing beside us and the scent of ash and night blooming around us, I know—this is it. This is the good stuff. This is home.