Page 47 of Vargan

I deflate slightly, returning to my nervous cleaning. Ash has been a frequent visitor over these months, handling club business and keeping us updated on Vargan's case. He's become a friend, an unexpected island of calm in the storm of uncertainty. This week, he's been in town to help put pressure on Victor's case and start the recalling proceedings to remove him from the mayor’s office.

Looking at Ash, I see hints of the same stoic strength that drew me to Vargan. It must be an orc thing—this ability to endure, to keep going despite everything the world throws at them. It's a quality I've tried to emulate these past six months.

Crow checks his watch. "Almost time. Should we gather 'round?"

We arrange ourselves around the speakerphone—Helen, Silas, Willie, Mandy, Crow, Diesel, Ash, and me. A strange family united by one common thread: our care for the orc who changed all our lives.

The phone rings precisely at two. Willie pounces on it, punching the speaker button before it can ring again. "Hello?"

"Willie? It's Lawrence Stein, Ironborn legal counsel." The lawyer's voice fills the diner, professional yet warm. "I have the whole team here with me. Are you all gathered as planned?"

"Yes, sir," Willie answers. "Everyone's here."

"Excellent. I'll get right to it. I've just left the courthouse where Judge Reynolds has issued his final ruling in Vargan Thronshade's case."

My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it. Under the table, Helen's hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. The moment stretches, each second an eternity of anticipation and dread.

"After reviewing all the evidence—the witness testimony, the security footage, and most critically, the recantation from Jason Meeks' girlfriend admitting she encouraged him to attack Mr. Thronshade—the judge has dismissed all charges."

The room erupts in cheers. Willie punches the air, Crow slaps Diesel on the back hard enough to make him cough, and I press my hand to my mouth, tears threatening to spill over. Relief floods through me with such force that I nearly collapse. Six months of fear and uncertainty dissolve in an instant.

"There's one condition," the lawyer continues once we quiet down. "Mr. Thronshade has to agree to never return to the state of New York."

"Easily done," comes a deep, familiar voice through the speaker, but it sounds... closer somehow.

I look up, and the world stops.

Vargan stands in the diner doorway, cell phone in hand, his amber eyes fixed on me.

"Vargan," I whisper, not trusting my voice.

Then I'm moving, crossing the diner in what feels like a single heartbeat. He catches me as I launch myself at him, his strong arms lifting me effortlessly, holding me against his chest as if he's afraid I might disappear.

"I can't believe you're here," I say against his neck, breathing in his scent—leather and cedar and something uniquely him. It's like oxygen after months of not being able to breathe properly.

He holds me tighter. "I asked Hammer to delay the call long enough for me to catch the first flight down here. I wanted to see your face when you heard the news."

Around us, the diner has erupted in celebration. Willie is explaining something excitedly to Mandy, his hands gesturing wildly. Crow and Diesel are toasting with coffee mugs. Helen is pretending not to cry while Silas pats her shoulder awkwardly.

Helen asks Ash if he had anything to do with this surprise visit, and he shrugs, but his grin gives him away.

But in Vargan's arms, it's just us—the world narrowed to the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart, the brush of his tusks against my cheek as he smiles.

"Put me down," I say finally, though it's the last thing I want. "Let me look at you."

He sets me on my feet, and I step back to take him in. He looks different—his hair longer, pulled back, a new scar on his forearm. He's leaner, prison food and stress having carved away some of the bulk I remember. But his eyes are the same, amber and warm and looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

"You look good," I say, inadequately.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "So do you."

Hours pass in a blur of celebration. Helen serves the food she prepared, Silas tells increasingly embellished stories about keeping Victor and Royce in line while they await trial, and Crow entertains everyone with tales of the Shadow Ridge Clan's formation.

"We've got five members already," he explains proudly. "Word spread about a safe spot for orcs and the club. Hammer's coming down next month for the official charter."

Through it all, Vargan keeps me close—a hand on my waist, an arm around my shoulders, as if reassuring himself I'm still there. I can't stop touching him either, fingers brushing his arm, shoulder pressed to his, needing the physical confirmation that he's real, he's here, he's free.

As the afternoon wanes, Willie approaches Vargan, suddenly shy. "Your bike is still in our garage," he says. "Silas has been helping me take care of it. Well, keeping it clean anyway."

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