Page 83 of Her Orc Healer

The words churned in my mind, too heavy to settle.

Kazrek walked beside me in silence. His expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed ahead—but there was a distance to him now, like he’d stepped behind some inner wall I didn’t know how to breach.

We turned a corner, the street empty save for the whisper of wind and the soft tap of our boots against stone. I couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“That woman,” I said, voice soft. “Aylan. She saved him by taking the mark herself.”

Kazrek said nothing.

“She chose it,” I continued, pushing the words out, even though they scraped on the way up. “She saw what was happening and didn’t wait for someone else to fix it. She—” I swallowed hard. “She did what had to be done.”

Still nothing. Just the quiet crunch of his steps on damp stone. His jaw was tight. His eyes forward. And I thought:He knows.

He knew what I was thinking. What I was already planning.

I stopped walking. “Kazrek.”

He kept going a few steps before realizing I wasn’t beside him. When he turned, he didn’t look angry—just tired. Guarded. Like someone already bracing for a blow.

“Talk to me,” I said, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “Please.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replied. His voice was low, rough. “We know what we’re facing now.”

“Do we?” I asked. My voice cracked. “Because it sounds like we’re facing one choice. One way to stop this.”

I didn’t say I’ll do it.

I didn’t have to.

Kazrek looked at me then, and for a split second, something flickered in his gaze—pain, maybe. Fury. But it vanished too fast to name.

“We should get back to Maeve,” he said.

He turned before I could answer. Shoulders squared. Face set. Like he couldn’t—wouldn’t—have this conversation. Like it was already too late.

And that’s when I knew.

He wouldn’t try to stop me.

Maybe he even agreed with me.

And it hollowed me out more than I expected—this quiet confirmation that he saw what I was willing to do and wasn’t going to fight me on it.

So I followed him. We walked through the dark streets in silence, the weight of Sylwen’s words pressing heavier with each step.

The Taken. A vessel for darkness. A price that had to be paid.

I would pay it.

And if Kazrek had already started letting go… I would just have to carry that, too.

Chapter 23

Themorningcreptingray and damp, the kind of light that settled heavy on the windows and made everything feel slower than it was. Mist clung to the edges of the cobblestones outside, and even the birdsong sounded half-hearted—like the city hadn’t quite decided if it was worth waking up yet.

I lit the lamps anyway. Dim amber halos pushed back the gloom inside the shop, casting long shadows over the shelves. The air smelled of wet stone, dried ink, and last night’s fire, long since gone cold.

Maeve was curled up on the cushion behind the front counter, swaddled in one of Kazrek’s old wool cloaks she’d claimed weeks ago. Her nose was red, and she’d barely touched the toast I gave her.

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