Page 94 of Till Orc Do Us Part

And I know.

I’m tired of running.

Tired of guarding this battered heart as if breaking is worse than never trying.

I lift my gaze. Look straight into his.

And I step forward.

One step.

Two.

The swing sways in the wind.

I take the key in my hand, thumb brushing its worn metal like a vow.

Then I cross the threshold.

The door shuts behind me—quiet, final.

I’m inside.

And for the first time in a long, long while, I am not afraid of where this story will go.

Inside, the house hums quiet and warm.

But neither of us moves deeper in.

Drokhaz watches me with a gaze I can’t quite read—steady, patient, as if he knows the weight of every breath I take. His broad shoulders rise and fall with a slow inhale.

Still, he says nothing about the key.

Nothing about the step I’ve just taken.

And gods—thank the stars for that.

I don’t think I could bear words just yet.

The room feels too full, my heart too loud. I need air. Space. Something older than language to hold me upright.

As if sensing this, he tips his head toward the porch.

“Come,” he says softly.

I follow without answering.

Outside, the sea sings beneath the dark, waves breaking in slow, deliberate rhythm. The last traces of dusk fade from the sky—violet bleeding into deep indigo, stars beginning to prick through the veil.

The porch swing waits, swaying gently in the wind.

He settles first—broad frame taking up one end, boots planted firm on the worn boards.

I hesitate, just a beat.

Then sit beside him, not quite touching.

The wood creaks beneath our combined weight, ropes groaning softly in their hooks. The swing rocks in time with the tide.