"Right. Just being helpful." Jonathan's smile widens. "Nothing to do with wanting to make sure your favorite had clear access to ingredients. Or maybe you were sharing some of that enhanced orc sensory information? Hard to tell from where I was standing."
The suggestion that I would cheat for Trinity's benefit sparks something hot and dangerous in my body. Not just the insult to my honor, but the implication that Trinity's victory wasn't earned through her own skill and determination.
He's trying to provoke you,the rational part of my mind observes.Classic misdirection. Make you angry so you'll say something they can use.
The rational part is correct. But rationality is struggling against the urge to grab Jonathan by his smug throat and explain, in detail, exactly what enhanced orc strength could accomplish if properly motivated.
"Trinity Lewis won through superior technique and preparation," I say, voice carefully level. "Her victory required no assistance beyond basic safety intervention."
"Trinity Lewis," Jonathan repeats, emphasizing the name like it proves something. "Interesting how quickly you learned her name compared to everyone else's."
Trap,my instincts scream.Disengage. Withdraw. Don't give them ammunition.
But Jonathan isn't finished.
"Course, maybe that's just standard orc practice. Focus on the weak prey first, establish dominance through intimidation. Classic pack hunting behavior."
The wordsweak preyhit hard. Not because Jonathan applied them to me, but because he dared apply them to Trinity. Trinity, who'd faced down a kitchen full of strangers and unknown challenges with steady hands and sharper wit. Trinity, who'd helped a competitor without hesitation despite her own time pressure. Trinity, who'd earned every bit of her victory through skill I could recognize even if I couldn't replicate it.
My vision tunnels. Heat floods my chest and shoulders, the familiar precursor to combat rage. Somewhere in the back of my mind, warning bells are screaming about cameras and consequences and political implications, but they're being drowned out by a much more immediate imperative.
Protect. Defend. Destroy the threat.
I rise from my chair with deliberate slowness, letting Jonathan absorb the full reality of exactly how much larger I am than he calculated. The conversation around us dies completely. Someone drops what sounds like a clipboard.
"Repeat that assessment," I suggest, voice dropping to the register I'd once used to extract information from captured enemies.
Jonathan's face goes pale, but he's committed now, probably calculating that backing down would be worse for his screen time than whatever's about to happen.
"Look, I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. Orcs have advantages in competition scenarios, and maybe those advantages extend to influencing?—"
The snarl rips out of me before conscious thought can intervene. Not words, not even a roar, just pure frustrated ragegiven voice. The sound echoes off the tent walls and Jonathan stumbles backward, colliding with someone's chair.
Fuck.
The realization of what I've just done hits immediately. Forty witnesses, multiple cameras, producers who are probably already calculating how to edit this into maximum drama. I've just handed them the footage they've been hoping for: the dangerous orc losing control, threatening innocent humans.
"Whoa, whoa, easy there, big guy." One of the production assistants appears with admirable speed, hands raised in a calming gesture. "Let's all take a step back, maybe cool down a little."
Big guy.As if I'm some unstable animal that needs handling rather than a sentient being who's been deliberately provoked.
"I'm fine," I say, forcing my voice back to normal registers. But the damage is done. Jonathan is playing up his fear for the cameras, other contestants are maintaining careful distance, and the production staff are exchanging looks that speak of crisis management and legal consultation.
"Maybe we should wrap up interviews for today," the assistant suggests with artificial brightness. "Give everyone a chance to process the excitement of the competition."
Code for: get the dangerous orc away from the humans before he does something that requires actual intervention.
I nod stiffly and head for the exit, very aware of every camera tracking my movement, every whispered conversation that will probably become interview footage about "the moment things got scary."
Political disaster,I assess grimly.The kind of incident that reinforces every negative stereotype about orc emotional control.
The afternoon sun feels harsh after the tent's artificial lighting. I need space to think, to process what just happenedand calculate damage control. But before I can retreat to my assigned quarters, footsteps approach behind me.
"That was quite a performance."
Jessica Powers materializes at my elbow with the uncanny timing of a predator who's been watching for weakness. Her expression is carefully neutral, but I can see calculation behind her eyes.
"Jonathan was out of line," I say before she can frame the narrative. "His accusations were baseless and inappropriate."
