Page 68 of Brotan

"If that were true, you'd have killed Granite the moment he stepped into that ring." She shakes her head. "But you didn't. You protected him from Quinn's manipulation, the same way you protected me."

The observation hits hard. I'd been so focused on survival, I'd missed seeing my own choice—the decision not to destroy the orc who'd been set up as my executioner.

"It wasn't your fighting that saved us," she continues, her voice gentler now. "It was your heart, Crow. It's always been your heart."

The word sounds foreign when applied to me. Hearts are for humans, for those who didn't have compassion and weakness beaten out of them as children. Not for orcs like me, carved into weapons by camps and combat.

Yet as I look at Maya—this fragile human who fought her way to my side, who defied Quinn, who stitches me back together with the same hands that brought me back from the edge—the beast inside me settles, not with a roar but a sigh. The beast that's driven me for so long settles, sated not by violence but by her presence.

"What happens now?" I ask, the question encompassing everything—us, Shadow Ridge, the future I never thought I'd have.

She looks down at our joined hands, her fingers tracing the scars that mark my knuckles. "I'm going back to Shadow Ridge. My clinic needs rebuilding."

"Just like that? What about your parents? That fancy job?"

A small, sad smile touches her lips. "I called them while you were unconscious. It didn't go well."

"I'm sorry." And I am, even though part of me, the selfish, possessive part, rejoices at the knowledge she's not leaving.

"Don't be. They can't understand, but I don't need their approval or their money. Shadow Ridge needs a doctor more than Long Island needs another concierge physician." Her eyes meet mine, unwavering despite the vulnerability in them. "For the first time since Jamie died, I know exactly where I belong. The question is, will you be there too?"

The last of my defenses crumble under the weight of that question. With careful movements, mindful of my injuries, I pull her down beside me on the bed. She comes willingly, curling against my uninjured side like she belongs there. Like we've been doing this for years, not just weeks.

"I'm not good at this," I warn her, fingers tangling in her hair. "At being... whatever normal people are."

She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Have you met me? I'm the woman who told off an entire hospital board, then ran away to a town nobody's heard of to work with a motorcycle club." Her hand rests over my heart, the heat of her palm seeping through bandages to my skin. "We're both broken in all the right places to fit together."

Something locked inside me gives way—a tension I've carried for so long I'd forgotten it wasn't part of my skeleton. The beast is still there. It will always be there. But for the first time, it feels like a strength rather than a curse. A protector rather than a destroyer.

"I'm not running anymore, Maya." I tip her chin up to meet my gaze, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. "Not from this. Not from you."

She rises up to kiss me—gentle at first, mindful of my injuries, then deeper as need outweighs caution. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding her to me as something foundational shifts and locks into place. This is what I've been fighting for all along, I realize. Not just survival, but the right to build something worth living for.

When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine, breath warm against my lips. "Good," she whispers. "Because I'm not letting you go again."

In the quiet of the clubhouse, with pain throbbing through my wounded body and Maya's weight anchoring me to the present, I finally understand. I've spent my life defining myself by what I can destroy—in the camps, in the pits, on the streets. But destruction was never my purpose. It was just the only language I was taught to speak.

Maya has given me new words. New possibilities. A future where I am not just the weapon but the man. Not just the beast but the heart.

And for the first time since crossing the Rift, that future feels like more than just surviving.

It feels like living.

Epilogue

Maya

Six months and enough stitches to circle Shadow Ridge twice—that's what it took to rebuild our lives after New York.

Spring has finally taken hold, softening the edges of a town that's been hard for too long. From the clinic's front porch, I watch residents move with purpose rather than the defeated shuffle of the past. The construction equipment that dominated the town square for months has given way to newly paved sidewalks and repaired storefronts. Hanging baskets overflow with flowers Helen insisted would "bring the life back."

She wasn't wrong.

The clinic itself has risen like some modern phoenix from the ashes of the old. Where once stood the burned-out remains of a dated clinic now stands a proper medical facility. The Ironborn didn't just rebuild—they reimagined. Solar panels capture Georgia sunshine, powering equipment I couldn't have dreamed of six months ago. The small emergency center in the back, Crow's idea has already saved two lives this month alone. And with each passing week, more patients fill our waiting room, trust growing as steadily as the town itself.

"Package for you, Doc." Mandy enters carrying a large box marked with surgical supply labels. The nineteen-year-old has blossomed since I hired her part-time, her natural caretaking instincts making her a perfect candidate for the nursing program I'm helping her apply to.

"Put it with the others in the storage room," I tell her. "And then head out. You've got that chemistry test tomorrow."

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