Page 73 of Till Orc Do Us Part

I scrub at my cheeks, pace quickening.

By the time I reach The Gilded Page, my hands are clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms.

I fumble with the key, force the door open, shut it behind me harder than necessary.

The bell chimes—a bright, cheerful sound that makes my teeth clench.

I lean against the counter, head bowed, chest heaving.

"It was just a fling."

But the hollow ache says otherwise.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pretend it wasn’t.

CHAPTER 22

DROKHAZ

Ido not follow her.

It takes more strength than I want to admit.

I watch Rowan’s back as she storms down the boardwalk, steps fast and hard, shoulders drawn tight beneath the cold morning sun.

She doesn’t look back.

I remain standing in the doorway of my home, the words I should have said coiled like iron beneath my ribs.

"You are not a conquest."

"I fight for this place. For you."

But words are not enough. Not now.

Not when trust is a blade she holds tight against her own skin, afraid to let anyone close enough to dull its edge.

I close the door with a soft click. The sound feels final.

The house hums with the silence she left behind. Her scent still lingers—ink and salt and lavender—woven into the air like a memory I cannot escape.

I move through the kitchen, absently setting the mug she abandoned back onto the counter.

"It was always a fling."

I heard the lie in her voice. Saw the tremor in her eyes.

But I also know fear when I taste it.

And now I don’t know how to fix what I do not fully understand.

I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees, gaze fixed on nothing.

Power is easy. Deals. Negotiations. Battles fought with words and steel.

But this—this war of the heart—is terrain I have never mapped.

And every step feels like a stumble.