"Were they?" Jessica tilts her head with mock curiosity. "I mean, you did seem unusually invested in Trinity's success today. And that intervention during the kitchen challenge was technically against the rules."
Here it comes,I realize.The leverage play.
"What do you want?" I ask bluntly.
Jessica's smile is all teeth. "Direct. I like that about orcs. No patience for social dancing." She pulls out her phone, swipes to what looks like a video file. "The thing is, Korgan, we got some great footage just now. Jonathan looking terrified, you looking... well, exactly like what every human expects an orc to look like when they're angry."
My jaw clenches, but I stay silent.
"Now, I could edit this to show Jonathan being deliberately provocative, you responding reasonably to baseless accusations. Make him look like the villain, you like the dignified victim." She pauses dramatically. "Or I could focus on the snarl, the size difference, the way every human in that tent was genuinely afraid for their safety. Really lean into the 'dangerous orc loses control' narrative."
"What. Do. You. Want?" I repeat, each word deliberately spaced.
"Cooperation," Jessica says simply. "You play along with our storylines, give us the kind of content our audience expects,and I make sure you come out looking like the reasonable one. You fight us, try to control your own narrative..." She shrugs eloquently.
Blackmail,I translate.Disguised as partnership.
The realization that I've been maneuvered into this position stings worse than Jonathan’s initial provocation. I came onto this show believing I could maintain control, use the platform for orc political advancement while keeping personal complications contained. Instead, I've given them exactly the weapons they need to control me.
"I need time to consider," I say finally.
"Of course." Jessica's smile widens. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, episode editing starts tomorrow, so any decisions should probably be made soon."
She disappears back toward the production center, leaving me alone with the uncomfortable knowledge that my options have just narrowed considerably.
Strategic reassessment,I tell myself, falling back on familiar military thinking.Evaluate new threat parameters, adjust objectives accordingly.
But as I head toward the contestant living quarters, my mind keeps returning to the moment Jonathan called Trinityweak prey. The surge of protective fury that had overridden every strategic consideration. The way her victory had filled me with something disturbingly close to pride.
This is the problem,I realize with uncomfortable clarity.It was never about strategy. Not entirely.
The living quarters are mercifully empty, most contestants still engaged in interviews or post-challenge socializing. I retreat to my assigned room, a space designed to house someone much smaller than me, and try to process exactly how thoroughly I've compromised my original objectives.
Through the thin walls, I can hear Trinity's voice from the neighboring room, apparently on a phone call with someone back home.
"...completely surreal. I mean, I won, which is amazing for the bakery, but Maya, you should see some of these people. There's this one guy who spent an hour explaining why vampire metabolism makes traditional sugar ratios obsolete, and this other contestant who keeps insisting that werewolf dietary restrictions are being ignored by the judges..."
Her laugh carries through the wall, bright and genuine, the same sound that had made me look up during the flour explosion yesterday. The sound that had somehow lodged itself in my memory despite every effort to maintain professional distance.
"...and the orc bachelor is... complicated. Like, scary intimidating on the surface, but today in the kitchen challenge he kept doing these little things. Making sure people didn't get hurt, giving subtle advice. I think he might actually be kind of sweet under all that gruff exterior, which is probably not something I should be thinking about someone who's technically here to date other people..."
I should stop listening. This is private conversation, and eavesdropping violates both human social conventions and basic honor. But her voice has a quality I find oddly soothing, like listening to rain on tent canvas during long campaigns.
Sweet,she'd called me. The assessment is laughably inaccurate. Nothing about my nature or history qualifies as sweet. I've killed enemies in combat, intimidated prisoners for information, led raids that left settlements in ruins. Sweet is not a word that belongs in any honest description of what I am.
But when Trinity says it, in that tone of genuine consideration, it doesn't sound like an insult.
"...anyway, I should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow's elimination ceremony, and even with immunity I want to stay focused. Love you too, Maya."
The call ends, and I hear Trinity moving around her room, probably preparing for bed. Normal human nighttime routines that I have no business monitoring.
This is surveillance,I tell myself.Strategic observation of a key player.
Another lie, and not a convincing one.
The truth is simpler and more dangerous: I'm listening because I like the sound of her voice. Because hearing her describe me as sweet makes something tight in my heart loosen slightly. Because despite every rational argument about maintaining distance and focusing on larger objectives, I want to know what she thinks about the complicated mess this show is becoming.
Weakness,my father's voice observes.Emotional attachment compromises judgment.
