Page 20 of Till Orc Do Us Part
The bench.
Simple. Worn. Alive again.
I draw its slats, the iron legs I scrubbed clean. The faint curve Jamie insisted would make it “friendlier.” And beneath it, a small spiral shell—hidden, waiting.
The lines flow easy. Too easy.
When I finish, I sit back, frowning.
This does not belong here.My firm would scoff. Clients would call it sentimental clutter.
I tear the page from the pad and tape it to the wall above my desk.
A small reminder.
Not of failure. Not of strategy.
But of a promise made beneath sun and salt:
Some things are worth saving.
Even if no one else sees it.
CHAPTER 7
ROWAN
Ican’t believe I’m doing this.
I stand on the sun-bleached steps of Town Hall, clipboard in hand, regretting every life choice that’s led me here. The morning air smells of fish and tar and the faint promise of summer rain. Seagulls wheel overhead, squawking like judgmental old crones.
Beside me, Councilman Kendrick leans against the railing, smug as ever.
“You sure about this, Ms. Moore?” he drawls. “Inviting the orc to tour the henhouse?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m sure.”
It was my idea, after all. A strategic move, I told myself. A way to show Vellum exactly what he’s trying to erase. Public enough that he can’t bulldoze it in words alone.
Except now I’m pacing and second-guessing and wishing Liara were here to tell me I’m brilliant instead of bananas.
Too late now.
A sleek black car pulls up beside the boardwalk entrance.
Drokhaz Vellum steps out—broad shoulders, sharp suit, sunglasses that probably cost more than my rent. He moves like a man who owns the ground beneath him.
I square my shoulders.
“Mr. Vellum.”
He inclines his head. “Ms. Moore.”
“Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
His mouth twitches. “An opportunity to better understand community priorities? How could I refuse?”
Smug bastard.
