Page 107 of Her Orc Healer

Not in the dramatic, self-sacrificing way stories get told. In quiet ways. In staying when it would’ve been easier to go. In fixing things he didn’t break. In bearing grief that wasn’t his to carry. In never asking for anything in return.

He’d been protecting us this whole time.

And I hadn’t said it. Not once. I’d barely let myself feel it.

Because if I had—if I’d let it in—I would’ve had to admit how much I needed him. How much I wanted him to stay. And need had always been dangerous. Want even more so.

But now, watching him hold her like that—like she was whole, like she was safe—I didn’t feel afraid of that need anymore.

I just felt grateful.

And something else. Something warm and aching and slow to rise.

I set the bundle down on his desk and crossed the room. Not hesitating at the edge like I usually did. Not waiting to be invited closer. Just walking straight to him, to them, like I belonged there too.

Because I did.

His eyes lifted to mine as I approached—still that deep brown, though tired now. Shadowed. But steady. Present. When I reached the edge of the cot, he shifted slightly, making space without disturbing Maeve.

I sat.

The mattress dipped beneath my weight. His thigh pressed against mine through the blanket. Maeve's curls brushed my arm where she was still burrowed against his chest.

"You were gone," he said quietly. "When I woke up."

There was no accusation in his voice. Just... something else. Something that made my chest ache.

"I thought—" My throat closed around the words. I swallowed. Tried again. "I thought you were leaving. With the caravan. Uldrek said Vorgrim offered you a position, and I..." I trailed off, the foolishness of it hitting me fresh. "I thought that night, you were saying goodbye."

His hand found mine in the sheets. Warm. Rough. Real. “I was.”

The breath caught in my throat.

“I knew what had to be done,” he said, his voice low, steady. “And I didn’t think I’d come back from it.”

His hand tightened slightly around mine.

“I wasn’t running,” he added after a beat. “Wasn’t choosing the road.”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to. I understood. He wasn’t choosing the road that led away from us. He was choosing the one that stood between us and everything else. Even if it meant he didn’t make it out.

Even if it meant we had to go on without him.

“You could’ve told me,” I said softly. “You didn’t have to carry it alone.”

His mouth twitched—something like a smile, but smaller. Sadder. “Didn’t want you to try and stop me.”

“I would’ve.”

“I know.”

"What happened?" I asked quietly. "In the ritual, when you..." I couldn't finish. The memory of him falling was still too sharp.

Kazrek was silent for a long moment, his thumb tracing absent patterns against my palm. Maeve had dozed off against his chest, her breathing steady and deep.

"The magic wanted somewhere to go," he said finally. "It was... hungry. Looking for a vessel. But I couldn't—" He broke off, jaw tight. "I couldn't let it have her."

"So you took it instead."

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