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"About the fact that people think you and Ash have some kind of understanding." Helen's weathered face hardens with concern. "Half the town thinks you're cozying up to the MC to push your agenda. The other half thinks you're using them to get to Royce."

"That leaves no half on my side," I point out.

Helen's expression softens. "Well, you have me. And Savvy can't shut up about how you commanded that room when old Henderson started going at you." She grins. "And then there's Ash. That look must have meant something."

"What look?" I ask, but heat flashes through my chest even as I say it.

Helen raises an eyebrow. "The one where you locked eyes with him when you froze up there. Half the room caught it."

My stomach drops. I thought it was just between us. "It wasn't that noticeable," I say. "It was just a glance."

"It was noticeable enough," Helen says, refilling my mug. "Only takes a few sharp eyes in this town to spot something, and by morning everyone's heard about it."

Great. So not only am I working understaffed and with little cooperation, but I'm also under a microscope. Warmth spreads up my throat, settling behind my ears despite my best efforts. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, I've been serving coffee in this town for twenty years. I know a connection when I see one." She leans closer. "Shadow Ridge has been through hell. We're still healing. Just... be careful. People are watching, and not everyone wants to see you succeed."

"I'm not playing any sides." The words come out sharper than intended. I lower my tone and lean in. "I'm here to enforce the law. That's it."

"Maybe." Helen doesn't look convinced. "But folks in this town have been burned before. They're watching to see where your loyalties land."

"My loyalty is to the law."

"And if Ash happens to fall on the right side of it?" Helen raises an eyebrow. "Or the wrong side?"

I start to answer when the kitchen doors swing open. Savvy emerges, sleeves rolled up over old burn scars, moving with her usual easy confidence. I've read her files on Victor Hargrove. The woman's got steel for a spine.

Her gaze finds me, and she changes direction, heading straight for our booth.

"Helen, I need you on the grill," she says, authority clear in her tone. "Willie's burning the hash browns again."

Helen straightens immediately. "Yes, boss." She gives me a meaningful look before heading back to the kitchen. "Think about what I said, Sheriff."

Savvy slides into the seat Helen vacated, relaxed but ready. She positions herself so she can see both exits—old habits.

"Didn't expect to see you here this early," she says, studying me. "Thought you'd be buried in those foreclosure files after your big revelation at the meeting."

"Taking a coffee break." I meet her stare directly. "Your employee seems concerned about town politics."

"Helen worries." Savvy shrugs, the gesture deliberately casual, though nothing about her is. "She's seen this town at its worst. We all have."

"Sounds like she thinks I'm making things worse."

"She thinks you're playing with fire." Savvy's words drop, steel beneath the calm. "Helen's protective of the MC. They were there when Victor tried to burn this place to the ground and all of us with it. When nobody else would stand against him."

Savvy gets straight to the point. No small talk, no pretense. I can respect that.

"I'm not here to undermine the club," I say. "But I enforce the law equally. No exceptions."

"And Ash?" Savvy's tone stays level, but there's steel underneath. "Where does he fit in your equal enforcement?"

My coffee cup stops halfway to my mouth. "Same as everyone else."

"You sure about that?" Savvy leans forward, elbows on the table. "I've seen how cops look at orcs. You don't look at him with the same contempt."

"How I look at anyone isn't your concern."

"It is when it affects people I care about.

" Her words harden. "Ash isn't just the VP of the Ironborn.

He's the one who keeps fighting long after everyone else thinks the threat is gone.

He spent two years making sure Victor's charges stuck, no matter whose palms got greased.

He's earned loyalty here. I don't want to see that challenged. "

I know better than to underestimate someone who is devoted to protecting her people.

"I'm not here to challenge anyone. My job is simple. Separate the truth from the lies and make sure the right side wins." I set my mug down carefully.

"Tall order." Savvy's expression softens fractionally. "Maybe too tall for one person to handle alone."

The diner's energy shifts as someone enters. I don't need to look to know who it is. Conversations drop to murmurs, bodies turning slightly toward the door.

Ash.

I keep my gaze on my coffee, but every cell in my body seems to reorient itself toward him. Toward the space he occupies. Toward the gravity he creates just by existing.

Savvy watches my reaction, something like understanding dawning across her face. She stands, smoothing her apron. "Just be careful, Sheriff. People who get caught between powerful men in this town tend to get hurt."

She heads for the counter where Ash waits, his back to my booth. Savvy claps him on the shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods.

Helen emerges from the kitchen with a to-go cup, sliding it across the counter to Ash. Their brief exchange reinforces what I already know—he belongs here. He's earned his place in this community. I'm the outsider, badge or no badge.

Not once does he turn toward my booth. Not once does he acknowledge my presence.

The dismissal should sting, but it doesn't. After what Helen just told me, he's being smart. People are watching, and he's giving them nothing to see. I can respect that, even if part of me wishes things were different.

I drop cash on the table and stand, gathering my jacket and keys. If I have to pass him on my way out, I'll do the same and act like he's just another citizen going about his business.

But as I move toward the door, he turns, and for the briefest moment, our stares lock.

Recognition slams through me. Awareness. Heat that has nothing to do with the coffee and everything to do with the way he's looking at me.

Then it's gone, his attention returning to Savvy as if I never existed.

The hollow feeling in my chest catches me off guard, but I push through the door into the morning air, breathing deep.

I make it three steps toward my cruiser before the diner door swings open behind me.

"Sheriff."

His voice stops me short, deep as a well, rough as gravel. I turn slowly, keeping my expression neutral despite my pulse picking up.

Ash stands on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense beneath his cut. The morning sun highlights the scar cutting through his eyebrow and the sharp line of his jaw.

"We need to talk," he says.

I glance back at the diner, then at him. "Smart move back there. Helen says people are watching."

Ash glances back at the diner windows, where faces suddenly find reasons to look our way. "Not here."

Without waiting for a response, he turns and heads for the alley beside the building. Ash stops when we're hidden from view, turning to face me.

"What's on your mind?" I ask.

"What was that look about?" He steps closer, using his size to crowd the narrow space between us. His words are low and rough, those amber eyes lock on mine with an intensity that makes my pulse jump. "Town meeting. You froze up there and found my face in the crowd. What happened?"

Heat crawls up my throat. "I got through the speech, didn't I?"

"That's not what I asked." His stare doesn't leave mine. "You were drowning up there for a second. Then you looked at me and everything changed."

"Does it matter?" I cross my arms, matching his directness. "You got what you wanted. I dropped that bomb on Royce in front of the whole town. Made it public so he can't handle it quietly."

"What I wanted?" Something dangerous flickers in his expression. "You think I wanted you putting yourself in his crosshairs?"

"I think you wanted Royce exposed. Mission accomplished." I shrug, refusing to let him see how his intensity affects me. "So what's the problem?"

"The problem is people are talking. About you and me, whether you're working with the MC or against us." His jaw tightens. "Either way, you're compromised."

"According to Helen, there's no half on my side anyway."

"Helen's wrong." The words come out rougher than he probably intended. "But it doesn't matter what she thinks. It matters what Royce thinks."

"So the cold shoulder in there was strategy." I match his energy, refusing to back down from the heat in his gaze. "Helen says people are watching."

"Helen's right." He doesn't step back, doesn't give me space. "This town's balanced on a knife edge. One wrong move, one hint that you're compromised, and Royce wins."

"I can handle Royce."

"Can you?" His tone drops lower, rough enough to make something twist in my stomach. "He finds pressure points. People who matter. Uses them."

The implication hits me. I matter to him.

"I've survived worse than Royce Carvello." Memories of Carman surface before I can stop them. "I don't need your protection."

"Maybe not." His gaze softens fractionally, seeing something in my expression I didn't mean to reveal. "But you've got it anyway."

"I didn't ask for it." I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of leather and something like a sweet spice I can’t name but is purely his. "I don't want it."

"Doesn't matter what you want." His voice drops. "Some things just are."

"Like you pretending I don't exist?" I keep my tone level. "That's your strategy?"

"Would you rather I make it obvious? Give Royce's people exactly what they're looking for?"

"There's nothing between us to find."

"You think that matters?" His laugh is dark. "They'll manufacture something if they need to."

I should step back. Should focus on the case instead of the infuriating orc standing too close, claiming to protect me from threats I can handle myself.

Instead, I ask, "Why do you care?"

Vulnerability flickers across his face, quickly hidden behind that mask he wears.

"Town needs a sheriff who isn't corrupt," he says. Too practiced, too neat.

"Bullshit." I step closer, invading his space. "Try again."

Ash goes completely still, predator focus zeroing in on me. For a heartbeat, I think he might say something real.

Instead, he steps back. "You should go. People are watching."

"So that's it?" I keep my tone neutral despite the frustration building in my chest. "You make the call about what I need, and I just accept it?"

"This isn't a negotiation." Final. Absolute. "It's how it has to be."

"No, it's how you want it to be." I clench my fists, fighting the urge to grab him by that cut and shake him. "I've spent my career being managed by men who think they know better. I didn't come here to add another name to that list."

Respect appears in his gaze. "This isn't about your abilities."

"Isn't it? You've written me off as someone who can't handle Royce. That I need your protection whether I want it or not."

"Royce destroys people for less than what he thinks is between us." His tone drops, intensity burning in every word. "Your life matters more than your pride."

The raw admission stops me cold. My anger deflates, replaced by something more dangerous.

"I never asked you to care."

This maintains the confrontational dynamic while varying the language and reducing the repetitive "decided" pattern.

"I know." Regret crosses his features. "Believe me, I didn't plan on it either."

We stand there, too close in the narrow alley, tension shifting to something more complicated.

"So what now?"

"Now you do your job. I do mine." He glances toward the alley entrance. "And if people are watching, we give them nothing to see."

"And if I don't agree?"

His head shakes. "Doesn't change anything." No room for argument. "Diesel or one of the others will keep an eye on things whether you like it or not."

The presumption reignites my temper. "You don't get to assign me a babysitter."

"Call it what you want." Ash turns toward the alley entrance. "Just don't mistake distance for disinterest."

He walks away without looking back, his shoulders set in a rigid line, which means he's made up his mind. I watch him go, torn between fury and frustration.

I wait five minutes before following. By the time I reach my cruiser, my sheriff mask is back in place.

This is smart. Distractions are the last thing I need when I'm building a case against Royce. My focus needs to be on justice, not on an orc who acts like I'm something worth defending, then pushes me away "for my own good."

I pull out of the parking lot, heading back to the station. Work will clear my head.

But as I drive, I scan my rearview mirror, looking for the black motorcycle I expect to be following at a distance.

The street behind me is empty.

I tell myself the hollow feeling in my chest is relief. And almost believe it.