Page 18 of Vargan

I'm staring at the table, lost in the past, when Vargan returns. He's cleaned up well—hair damp from the shower, wearing a fresh black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders, jeans that have seen better days but fit him perfectly. If he stays much longer we're going to need to find him some new clothes.

His expression shifts when he sees me, from relaxed to concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I blink away the memory, moving to check on the steak.

"You sure?" He doesn't move closer, respecting my space even as his eyes track me. "You looked a million miles away."

Something in his voice—genuine concern, not forced sympathy or impatience—makes me answer honestly. "I was thinking about my parents. How this house used to be full of... life. Now it's just echoes."

Vargan nods, understanding in his eyes. "The camps were like that. Empty spaces where families should have been. You learn to live with the silence, but you never stop hearing what should be there."

His unexpected vulnerability catches me off guard. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," he says softly. "We all carry ghosts."

We sit across from each other at the small kitchen table. Vargan looks almost comical on the human-sized chair, his knees nearly touching the underside of the table. But he doesn't complain, just waits until I've served myself before taking portions that would feed three normal men.

"This is good," he says after his first bite of steak. "Really good."

I feel a flush of pride. "Thanks. I wasn't sure what orcs like to eat."

"Pretty much the same as humans, just more of it." He gestures to the salad with his fork. "Though we do need more vegetables than most humans eat. Less junk carbs."

Thunder crashes outside, closer now, and rain begins to patter against the windows. The storm has arrived.

"What was the town like?" Vargan asks after a comfortable silence. "Before Victor, I mean."

I take a sip of water, considering. "When I was younger, Shadow Ridge was full of farmers and an auto parts manufacturer just outside town. The factory closed about fifteen years ago, and the town shifted to agriculture." I push a piece of chicken around my plate. "But as the price of produce dropped, people were forced to find other ways to make money. That'swhere the diner came from. Dad bought all local produce and fed the town."

Lightning flashes, illuminating the kitchen in stark white for a moment before plunging it back into the soft yellow glow of the overhead light.

"Then Victor started buying up abandoned farms," I continue. "Dad called him out on it, but no one wanted to listen, since Victor was the only person willing to pay." My throat tightens. "He died knowing his legacy would be bought and sold."

Vargan sets down his fork, his expression intense. "I'll do whatever I can to stop that from happening."

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. "You have your own problems to face," I remind him gently. "I've weathered this storm long enough. I can hold on for as long as it takes."

"What happened with Royce?" Vargan asks suddenly, his voice careful. His attention returns to his steak, but I know he's hyper-focused on me. "Silas mentioned you two were together for a while."

The question stuns me. No one in town ever asks directly—they just whisper behind my back.

"You don't have to tell me," he adds, glancing up and catching my expression.

"No, it's—" I take a breath, surprised to find I want to tell him. "After Dad died, I was drowning. The diner was failing, the mortgage was underwater, and I had a pre-teen brother who'd just lost both parents. Royce was..." I search for the right words. "He was charming. Attentive. Made me feel like I wasn't alone for the first time in months."

Vargan is very still, listening intently.

"At first, it was good. He helped with the diner, spent time with Willie, talked about how we could fix up the house oncewe were married." The words taste bitter now. "I should have seen it earlier—how he gradually started making decisions for me. Small things at first: what to wear, who to hire at the diner, which bills to pay first."

Outside, the storm intensifies, rain lashing against the windows.

"Then came the suggestions about selling. Just casual mentions at first—how much easier life would be, how we could move somewhere better, start fresh." I swallow hard, the memory still raw. "When I refused, he started getting angry. Not violent, just... cold. Manipulative. He'd punish me by disappearing for days, then come back with gifts and apologies."

I push the memory away, continuing quietly, "The last straw was when I found out he'd been meeting with Victor behind my back, promising he could deliver the diner and the farm once we were married."

Vargan's hands clench into fists on the table. "What did you do?"

"I ended it. Threw every gift he'd ever given me at his head and told him to get out." I manage a small, bitter laugh. "He didn't believe me at first. Said I needed him too much to leave. That I'd come crawling back when I realized how hard it was to do this alone."

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