Page 6 of Torgash

With him.

"It was handled," I say, keeping my voice level. "No charges filed, no injuries requiring medical attention."

"Good. Those Murphy's regulars can get stupid when they drink." Helen's expression darkens slightly. "A lot of folks are still angry about changes around here. Some take it out on anyone new, anyone different, like our boys. I hope they didn’t turn you off us already?"

I pause, coffee halfway to my lips. She's not fishing for gossip. She's checking on me. When's the last time someone did that?

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can. Doesn't mean you should have to." Helen leans back, crossing her arms. "Look, I don't know what brought you to Shadow Ridge, and that's your concern. But I've been here long enough to know when someone's carrying more than they should."

She glances toward the window, where morning sunlight illuminates the main stretch of highway outside.

"This place was dying before the club showed up. Empty storefronts, families leaving, nothing but bitter grudges and Victor Hargrove's poison." Her voice lifts when she turns back to me. "Now look at it. We've got a future again."

"The Ironborn did that?" I ask over my next sip.

"They helped, but it took all of us." Helen meets my eyes directly. "The Point is, you don't have to fight every battle alone here. Most people here want change. They’ll be on your side."

She stands, smoothing her apron. "You need anything—information, backup, or just someone to listen—you know whereto find me. This town takes care of its own, and like it or not, you're one of us now."

Helen picks up the coffee pot and walks away, leaving me with the certainty that I'm already in deeper than I planned.

The bell above the door chimes. The shift in the diner's atmosphere is immediate—conversations don't stop, but they quiet, like everyone's suddenly aware of a different kind of presence in their midst. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Ash Thornshade fills the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the morning light. Behind him, another orc follows—younger, with an easier smile and less visible damage. They move unhurried through the space—Ash nodding to the trucker at the counter, the younger orc raising a hand to someone in the back booth. People acknowledge them with the kind of respectful familiarity reserved for those who've proven themselves.

My peripheral vision tracks Ash as he crosses the room, and I hate how attuned I am to his every movement. He's changed since last night—clean clothes, leather cut pristine, no trace of the violence that marked him hours ago. But I can still see the careful awareness in every step, the way he scans the room without seeming to, the deliberate spacing he maintains.

He moves through the space like he owns it, never once glancing in my direction.

Helen appears at their table with a coffee pot and two mugs already in hand. "Morning, boys. The usual?"

"Thanks, Helen." Ash's voice carries across the diner. The younger orc—Diesel, according to the files I've memorized—slides into the booth and immediately reaches for the sugar dispenser. "How's business?"

"Better since you fixed that freezer," Helen replies, already pouring their coffee. "Savvy's got your breakfast coming right up."

They talk like this is routine. I watch Ash's profile as he responds to Diesel's words, his mouth shifting toward what might be a smile.

The conversation flows around them, but his gaze never drifts my way.

My coffee grows cold in my hands. The eggs Helen brought without asking sit untouched on the plate. My appetite vanished the moment he walked in, replaced by a hyperawareness that sets my nerves on edge—every movement he makes, every word he speaks draws my attention like a magnet I can't resist.

This is exactly what I can't afford. Yet I watch anyway, drawn despite every rational thought. Last night was police work, nothing more. The fact that I can still feel the weight of his gaze, the memory of those eyes assessing me with something that felt like hunger—that's just residual adrenaline. Biology. Nothing more.

I force myself to take a bite of eggs, chewing mechanically while fighting the urge to look in his direction. This distraction is exactly what I don’t want in Shadow Ridge. Getting tangled up with someone who represents everything I'm supposed to be working against.

But then he laughs at something Diesel says—a low, genuine sound—and my resolve cracks. The smile reveals the sharp points of his tusks, making him look both more dangerous and more appealing. Even the jagged scar cutting through his right eye only adds to the contradiction.

Just for a second, I wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one making him laugh instead of the threat he refuses to acknowledge.

That possibility unsettles me more than his violence ever could.

I drop cash on the table and stand, needing distance before I do something unprofessional. As I head for the door, I have to pass their table. I brace myself for continued indifference, chin up, shoulders squared.

"Perfect timing!" Helen appears beside their booth, plates of food in hand, and a smile that seems a little too convenient. "Ash, Diesel, I don't think you've officially met our sheriff yet, have you?"

I freeze mid-step, and Ash's coffee cup pauses halfway to his mouth.

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