Page 3 of Her Orc Protector

“You need anything, you ask me. We keep quiet here, but we keep each other warm.”

She didn’t wait for a reply—just turned back toward the side room she came from, the towel now folded over her forearm.

I sat slowly. The cot creaked under my weight, but it held. Ellie barely shifted when I adjusted the wrap, easing her free and settling myself back onto the cot. Her little hand stayed curled near her cheek, open and soft.

The others had gone back to their own rhythm. The halfling hummed again, under her breath, some tune that felt older than the walls. Leilan rinsed the ladle and hung it on a nail above the counter. The kettle in the hearth gave a soft, hollow knock as the steam shifted within it.

I sipped the broth slowly, watching the fire’s light flicker gently across the rafters. My eyes burned, but I refused the tears that tried to settle there. Instead, I counted.

Fifteen coppers in the inside pouch, three silver bits stitched into the hem. That should stretch if I kept it close. Bread was coinlight if I bartered, meat less likely. I’d walk to avoid cart-fare. Wash linens on rest days. Hope no diapers tore.

Twenty-nine days left on the filing clock.

That was the real number that stuck, beat inside my head like a second pulse.

Ellie stirred, and I tucked the blanket tighter around her, my fingers lingering on the curve of her back. Outside, the city was settling into its evening hush. I could hear it, barely—a distant cart rolling over stone, the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestone, soft and rhythmic like breath. Somewhere not far off, someone laughed—a sharp, momentary burst that faded into the hush again.

I drank the last of the broth and set the mug down beside the cot. Then lay back, slow and careful. I didn’t undress; I just curled onto the edge of the cot around Ellie, cloak still drawn close, my boots half-loosened but still on my feet. The practical part of me insisted it was warmer that way. The truth settled somewhere lower in my ribs—if I had to run, shoes mattered.

The ceiling beams above were marked with old smoke trails—soft streaks of black and brown. It almost looked like a map. Roads I didn’t know, lines that led nowhere but across one dark ceiling in one dark room in a city that didn’t know my name.

Chapter 2

Ellie was already fussing when I opened my eyes. Not crying—just that soft, breathy sound she made when she was hungry and didn’t want to wait. Her little hands kicked against the blanket, one fist catching the edge of my coat.

I’d tucked her beside me on the cot, curled between my body and the canvas divider. My back ached from staying so still all night, too afraid to shift and wake her. I sat up carefully and pulled her into my lap. She rooted against my shirt before I even got it unbuttoned.

She latched fast, greedy and impatient. I nursed her as quiet morning sounds rippled through the shared space. Leilan, voice low and scratchy with sleep, murmured a spell over the hearth to coax the coals forward. The halfling next to me—Dora, I thought her name was—began folding her quilt as though she could press the dreams back into the fabric.

Gruha was moving through her morning routine faster than the rest of us. She was already dressed, apron tied, sleeves rolled.She added a few logs to the fire, stirred the coals with a hooked iron poker, and set the kettle on the trivet.

When she noticed I was up, she gave a small nod. "Sleep okay?”

“Well enough.”

Gruha scratched her jaw. “Fire kept steady. That helps.”

Ellie finished with a grunt and a little sigh. I cleaned her up with one of the cloths from my bag and changed her quickly on my lap. She squirmed a bit but didn’t fuss.

When I started to rewrap her blanket, Gruha watched for a beat, then said, “You want to eat while I hold her?”

My hands stilled. “No, thank you,” I said. “She’s fine.”

She didn’t blink. “Suit yourself. Bread’s on the warmer.”

I got Ellie tucked into the sling across my chest, close enough to feel her breath against me. Then I crossed to the hearth and took a half-round of yesterday’s bread from the plate. It was dry but warm. I ate standing.

Gruha wiped her hands on a towel, then pulled a folded slip of parchment from a box near the bench. “Hearth Office sent your placement.”

I took the note.

Everwood Archives. Second bell. Cleaning and catalog prep. Ask for Edwin.

My thumb brushed the wax mark at the bottom—faint, mottled, barely there. Not fancy. Just official enough to open doors. Bread and rags, I thought. That’s all it would be. But the word lingered.Archives. It curved inside my ribs like something warm and old.

Books again.

“You know the way?” Gruha asked.

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