Page 90 of Till Orc Do Us Part

I rest one palm against the central beam—old, scarred, still standing.

As am I.

But now, not alone.

In the quiet, my brother’s voice returns:

“Some things are worth bleeding for.”

I close my eyes.

Rowan’s gaze flickers beneath my lids—fierce, aching, filled with truths neither of us dared speak aloud.

Jamie’s small hand in mine.

Trust.

Chosen, not forced.

Earned.

I let the breath shudder free.

Slow. Full.

I press my brow to the beam, let the cool wood steady me.

And in that moment, beneath the salt and the dark, I know:

This is what I was meant to build.

Not towers.

Not legacies.

A life.

And I will.

The next morning dawns cool and bright—sharp-edged sunlight cutting through sea mist.

I arrive early, shoulders still aching from the prior day’s work. The boardwalk hums with new energy already—crews gathering, tools clinking, coffee steaming in battered thermoses.

Jamie finds me before I make it to the fish shack.

He barrels toward me at full speed, curls flying, clutching something tight in his small fist.

“Mr. Drokhaz!” he calls.

I kneel to meet him. “Good morning, Jamie.”

He beams. “I made you something.”

From his hand, he produces a small round pin—metal, a bit lopsided, bright green paint scrawled over white.

HONORARY GREEN GIANT,the words read, shaky but bold.

My throat tightens.