Page 38 of Till Orc Do Us Part

A sacrifice no ledger can balance.

The ache coils sharp beneath my ribs.

I inhale, slow and shallow.

Not here. Not now.

Carefully, I ease upright. My shoulder protests—a dull throb—but manageable.

Jamie stirs, mumbling something beneath his breath. I freeze until his breathing evens again.

Then I rise.

The room sways for a beat—blood loss catching up—but I steady against the frame.

The shop below is silent.

I descend the stairs barefoot, each creak beneath me a small betrayal. The air shifts—cooler here, wrapped in shadows and the faint scent of ink.

Rows upon rows of books greet me. Tall, narrow, some leaning like old men too tired to stand straight. The shelves hum with presence, with memory.

I walk the narrow aisles, fingers trailing along spines faded by time.

Salt and Story. The Boardwalk Companion. Forgotten Ports.

I do not know why I touch them.

Perhaps because they remind me of what cannot be measured. What cannot be bought.

"Memory matters,"Cass’s voice echoes.

I pause before a battered volume titledTides and War.The title tugs harder than it should.

I pull it free.

The binding cracks softly as I open to a random page. The words swim briefly before settling.

"In the quiet after battle, it is not the blood that haunts us, but the voices we can no longer hear."

I close the book, jaw tight.

"You should rest."

I turn at the voice.

Rowan stands in the archway between shelves, barefoot, hair tangled from sleep, an old sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.

Her eyes are shadowed. Watchful.

“You should not be up,” she says again, softer.

I set the book down. “I needed… air.”

She steps closer. “Your shoulder?—”

“Will mend.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re impossible.”