Page 8

TORACK

I make my rounds through the camp, my conversation with Julie the previous day still churning through my mind. The girl has a way of getting to me, both good and bad. It’s not something I’m used to.

It clutters up my thoughts. So much so, that it takes something drastic to pull me back from them.

The sharp, eye-watering smell of chemical failure hits me five paces before I see the disaster. By the time I round the bend, it’s too late. There’s glitter in the grout.

Literal glitter.

The arts cabin foundation is frothing. Foam bubbles churn up from the base like a sugar-fueled swamp, coating the sideboards in a thick, iridescent sludge. It smells like burnt glue and toasted regret.

I grind my tusks, slowly, as I take in the three goblins standing in front of it—Groth front and center, arms crossed, looking like a toddler proud of a spilled cereal box.

“Boss,” Groth says cheerfully. “You’re early.”

I stop in front of the bubbling cement.

“You used shimmerdust.”

Groth lifts a shoulder. “Just a pinch.”

“You mixed shimmerdust with trollcrete,” I say flatly. “Which reacts violently with organo-based substrates.”

“Experimental blend,” Groth replies, tapping the heel of his boot against the foundation’s edge. “I was testing a theory. Might make it self-leveling.”

Behind him, one of the junior goblins—Snert? Skid?—pipes up, “We think it’s trying to form a third tier.”

“A third tier of what ?” I snap, tension pulling in my face.

“Ambition?” he offers with a nervous smile.

My pulse thuds behind my eyes. My temple twitches.

“It’s forming a volatile crust,” I say tightly, kneeling to examine the slick bubbling mass. “This isn’t innovation, Groth. This is a lawsuit waiting to crystallize.”

Groth huffs. “We’re pushing boundaries. The kids’ll love it.”

“The kids are not going to play dodge-the-toxic-foam, Groth.”

“Debatable,” he mutters.

I stare him down so sharply his ears twitch.

He tries again. “I can stabilize it. Easy fix. Bit of neutralizer from the storage shed and some heat charms.”

“You have one hour,” I say, voice like stone. “If it’s not neutralized by then, I’m reporting it to the Engineering Guild and stripping your badge.”

Groth’s grin falters. “That’s a bit harsh.”

I stand to my full height. “So is this acid party you threw in the dirt.”

He mutters something under his breath about “creativity stiflers” and stomps off, hollering for someone named Bleez to “grab the foam tarp and two buckets of hope.”

I turn on my heel, jaw aching, ready to get back to real problems when I hear footsteps behind me: light, measured, unbothered by the chaos.

Julie.

She steps up beside me with her usual clipboard, a pen behind one ear, and a granola bar wedged between two folders like emergency rations. Her brow lifts as she takes in the glimmering mess.

“Well,” she says after a pause, “this doesn’t look up to code.”

I exhale slowly. “They turned the foundation into a glitter volcano.”

Julie squints, a strange smile pulling at her lips. “Is it… breathing?”

“Possibly.”

“Do we call a priest or a chemist for that?”

“Depends on how much it screams when it sets.”

She hums, tucking her clipboard under her arm and stepping closer to inspect the frothing base. “I’ve seen less horrifying things in subway bathrooms. Not by much.”

I grunt. “This could push us behind schedule.”

She glances over her shoulder at me. “Or it could push them to not use unsanctioned fairy dust in structural materials again.”

“They said it would ‘enhance texture.’”

“It’s enhancing my nightmares.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “It’s a mess.”

Julie studies me for a beat, then speaks softly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I mutter.

“You say that like it’s a challenge.”

“I don’t have time to fall apart, Julie.”

“No one said you had to fall apart,” she replies, stepping in front of me. “But you also don’t have to grit your tusks into gravel every time someone screws up.”

I don’t answer.

She watches me for another moment, then sighs. “Let me guess. This was supposed to be the one thing today that didn’t explode.”

“It was a small ask.”

“Which means the universe said no.”

My jaw tightens. “Groth’s good at what he does. But he needs boundaries. Hard ones.”

Julie nods. “Then give him boundaries. Just don’t give yourself a hernia in the process.”

I turn toward her. “Are you always this calm when the ground’s melting?”

“Only when I’m trying to keep you from flipping a picnic table.”

I pause. “I wasn’t going to flip anything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re two seconds from bench-launching rage.”

I glare, but not at her.

Then she does something unexpected.

She gently nudges my elbow with hers. “C’mon, Big Bad. Let me get you coffee before you start breathing fire.”

I look at her. Really look.

There’s paint on the edge of her shoe, ink smudged on her thumb, and a look in her eyes that tells me she’s already calculated how long it’ll take to fix this mess and reschedule the entire investor preview around it. She’s steady, but not cold. Organized, but not distant.

And she’s standing next to me like she belongs there.

“You’re too good at this,” I say.

She smiles faintly. “I’ve been told I make an excellent disaster wrangler.”

“No,” I say, softer. “You make me better at it.”

Julie blinks. “Torack…”

But before either of us can say more, Groth yells from the edge of the site.

“Boss! We got it contained! Sort of! I mean, it's twitching, but not maliciously!”

I sigh. “Define ‘maliciously.’”

“It hasn’t eaten anyone!”

“Yet!” chimes in another goblin helpfully.

Julie snorts. “I’ll get the investor list ready. You handle the sentient cement.”

I grunt. “I preferred the spreadsheets.”

“You’re lying.”

“Only a little.”

She turns to go, then pauses. Looks over her shoulder.

“Hey, Torack?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing a good job.”

The words land hard.

For the first time all morning, I feel my jaw relax.

Even with tusks.