Page 25 of Brotan

The parallel isn't subtle, but it strikes home anyway. "My parents think I'm wasting my potential."

"And what do you think?"

I push the ice cream around the bowl. "I think... for the first time in a long while, I feel like I'm actually helping people. Not just going through motions, checking boxes, following the limitations of insurance companies."

"Sounds like you may have found your purpose as well. Your parents will just have to accept your path," Helen says simply. She reaches across the table, patting my hand. "Your life isn't theirs to live."

I'm pondering that thought when the diner door crashes open, hard enough to rattle the blinds on the windows. I flinch, nerves still raw from the night's chaos. Every head turns as Crow's massive frame fills the doorway, his leather cut hanging open, black shirt underneath streaked with soot. The brutal daylight does nothing to soften the hard angles of his face or the intensity in his expression as he scans the room.

His gaze catches on me for a split second—just long enough to set my pulse racing—before he strides toward Diesel's table, deliberately ignoring me. That shouldn't sting. It absolutely shouldn't matter.

But it does.

"We got confirmation," Crow growls as he reaches Diesel, his voice carrying across the near-empty diner. "The fire chief from Clemmons found gas pouring throughout the site, and a jerrycan melted into the rubble."

"Fucking knew it," Diesel slams his fist on the table, rattling silverware. "What's the plan?"

"No plan yet. Ash and Hammer are working on it." Crow's posture radiates tension, the tightly leashed violence I'd glimpsed before. Nothing like the orc who'd tempted a stray from his hiding place. "Keep your eyes open. Tell the others."

He exchanges terse nods with the men, then turns and scans the diner again. His gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, I think he might walk away. Instead, he stalks toward my booth with deliberate steps, the sheer size of him drawing every eye in the place.

Helen follows my stare, something knowing flashing across her face. "Well, that's my cue." She slides from the booth. "Looks like trouble found you."

"Wait," I grab her wrist. "Don't leave me alone with him."

"Honey, I know better than to get in an orc's way." She pats my hand and slips away, nodding to Crow as she passes. "She's all yours, big guy. Try not to break her."

Traitor.

Crow slides into the booth across from me, the vinyl protesting beneath his weight. Up close, exhaustion drags at his features—shadows deepening beneath his eyes, a new tension pulling at his mouth. The beast is back in control, and none of the vulnerability from the clinic is visible in his posture.

"You look like shit," he says, voice rough like leather on stone.

I raise an eyebrow. "Such a charmer. You look worse."

Something that might almost be a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth before vanishing. "I've been looking for you."

"Found me." I push the half-eaten sundae away, suddenly self-conscious. "Last night was insane. Thanks for your help with the injured. You were... You saved lives out there."

His posture stiffens, shoulders squaring as if I've accused him of some crime. The cords in his neck tighten.

"I did what anyone would've done," he mutters, gaze dropping to the table, jaw clenched.

"Not everyone," I correct. "You."

There it is—the same retreat I witnessed at the clinic. The immediate withdrawal when someone notices his capacity for compassion. I've hit a wall, and pushing against it will only make him shut down harder.

"You said you were looking for me?"

He shifts, uncomfortable with the personal question. "There's an old man named Gus Whitaker living deep in the woods, fifteen miles out. Served with Silas in 'Nam." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Been holed up in his cabin, refusing to come in even though Silas says he's been sick all week."

The mention of a sick patient snaps my professional instincts into focus, fatigue falling away. "How sick? What symptoms?"

Crow's expression changes, relief flickering across his features at my immediate concern. "Bad cough. Fever. Couldn't get a full breath without making this sound like his lungs were full of broken glass. Stubborn old bastard wouldn't let me drag him to town."

"You've seen him?"

"This morning. Rode out as soon as the site was clear. His place is on my rounds."

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