Page 70 of Brotan

He takes the papers, tucking them carefully back into his jacket. "Some walls exist for a reason."

"And some exist because they're easier than the alternative."

His eyes, sharper than Crow's, more calculating, assess me with new interest. "No wonder you've got him wrapped around your finger. You see too much."

"Not wrapped around my finger. Standing beside me," I correct. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Something flickers in his expression—so brief I nearly miss it. Not sadness exactly. Longing, maybe.

Before I can respond, he's moving toward the door. "Thanks for the signature. And the unsolicited advice."

"Anytime." I mean it more sincerely than he probably realizes.

After Ash leaves, I finish my patient notes, check supplies, and lock up for the day. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Main Street as I walk toward the town's newest addition, the Shadow Ridge Recreation Center.

The building that once housed Victor's offices has been transformed. The pretentious columns and ostentatious landscaping have given way to practical facilities designed for a town rebuilding itself. Through the large windows, I see local kids learning basic wrestling moves on padded mats. Leading them, his massive green form somehow gentle despite its power, is Crow.

I pause outside, watching him demonstrate a defensive stance to a boy no older than twelve. The child mimics his posture, face screwed up in concentration. Crow adjusts the boy's stance with careful hands, then nods approval. The smile that breaks across the kid's face could power the entire town.

Three teenagers spar nearby under Diesel's watchful eye. In the corner, an elderly woman practices slow, deliberate movements that look like tai chi. The rec center, like everything the Ironborn touch in Shadow Ridge, serves multiple purposes—physical training, community gathering space, safe haven.

Near the water fountain, I spot a familiar face—the boy with the stray dog Crow and I rescued months ago. Tommy, I remember, with that same solemn expression, but healthier color in his cheeks now. The dog, whose burned paws I'd treated until they healed, sits patiently beside Tommy's mother, his coat glossy where it had once been matted and dull. The animal's eyes follow Crow's movements with unmistakable devotion, much like its young owner.

When Crow first proposed turning his makeshift gym into a full community center, I'd worried he was pushing himself too hard, too soon after his injuries. But watching him now, focused, purposeful, occasionally even smiling, I understand this is his healing as much as time and rest were.

He looks up, amber eyes finding mine through the window with that uncanny awareness he's always possessed. A subtle shift in his expression—softening around the eyes, the faintest quirk of lips—signals recognition that to anyone else would be invisible. But I've learned to read him like he's learned to read me.

He says something to the kids, who immediately scramble to continue practicing in pairs. Then he makes his way outside to where I wait.

"Spying on me, Doc?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest in mock disapproval.

"Admiring my handiwork." I gesture to the barely visible scar on his shoulder, where one of Quinn's bullets tore through muscle and tissue. "Looking pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"The scar or the orc?"

"Both." I allow myself a moment of open appreciation, just to watch his pupils dilate in response. "Especially the orc."

"Tommy's looking stronger," I comment, nodding toward the boy inside.

"Kid's got a good right hook for a human," Crow says, pride evident beneath the gruffness. "Dog follows him everywhere now."

"Like owner, like pet." I bump my shoulder against his arm. "Both loyal to a fault once they trust someone."

He glances back through the window to check on his students. "Ten more minutes and I'm done."

"I'll wait." I follow his gaze to the children inside. "They're improving."

"Not bad for humans," he says, the old gruffness in his voice softened by unmistakable pride. "Kid in the blue shirt has real potential. Reminds me of Willie when he started."

Willie, now training under both Vargan and Crow, has blossomed in the months since Vargan’s return. The gangly teenager who once eyed orcs with suspicion now moves comfortably among them, absorbing their teachings like a sponge.

"Speaking of Willie," I say, "Savvy mentioned he's thinking about community college after graduation."

"Automotive engineering," Crow confirms. "Vargan's idea. Kid's got a knack for engines."

The mention of Vargan brings a slight smile to my face. His return to Shadow Ridge after the charges against him were dropped had been like watching a missing puzzle piece slot into place. His custom bike shop now draws enthusiasts from three counties, bringing much-needed business to town. The charges against Quinn's organization fell apart after his death, but the aftermath gave us all some sleepless nights until Hammer's lawyers sorted things out.

Across the street, I spot a familiar behemoth of an orc emerging from Greene's Diner. Hammer, looking oddly out of place without his cut, instead wearing what passes for business casual in his massive size. More surprising is the woman beside him—Helen, her loose hair catching sunlight, gesturing animatedly as she speaks.

---