"You should. But I'm not tired." A lie, but a comfortable one.
"Neither am I." He leans against the counter. "Tell me about your bakery. The real story, not the version for cameras."
So I do. I tell him about the building that used to be a hardware store, about spending six months renovating it myself because I couldn't afford contractors. About the day I opened and only three people came, and one of them was Maya feeling sorry for me. About the regular who orders the same cranberry scone every Tuesday and leaves a ten-dollar tip on a three-dollar pastry because his late wife used to make them.
"It sounds like home," he says when I finish.
"It is. More than anywhere else I've lived."
"And you'd risk losing it. For this. For us."
I think about lying, about softening the truth into something less terrifying. But we're past that now.
"Yes."
He takes a long moment, processing. "My brother died in a skirmish near the border. Webb was there, covering it for some human news outlet. He promised to tell the truth about what happened, that my brother was defending human settlers from raiders, not attacking them."
"But he didn't."
"He wrote that my brother's unit instigated the conflict. That we were testing human defenses, looking for weaknesses." Korgan's jaw tightens. "The article set off riots. Three orc settlements burned. My brother's name became a slur."
"That's why you don't trust him."
"That's why I don't trust any of this. The cameras, the editing, the narrative they want to sell." He looks at me. "But you're teaching me that not every human is Webb. That some people mean what they say."
"Even flour-covered bakers with failing businesses?"
"Especially them."
I take his hand, threading our fingers together. The brass bead in my hair catches the kitchen light.
"Tomorrow's going to be a mess," I say. "The bank meeting, Webb trying to manipulate the next episode, probably more trolls crawling out of the internet to tell me I'm ruining civilization."
"Probably."
"And you'll be dealing with your own people questioning why you're courting a human on television instead of finding a nice orc girl through proper channels."
"Already getting messages about that, actually."
"So we're both walking into a storm."
He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Then we'd better walk together."
"Together," I repeat, testing how it feels.
It feels like chosen. Like real. Like something worth fighting for, even when fighting feels impossible.
When Korgan finally leaves, with strict instructions from a passing PA about fraternization rules, I touch the brass bead in my hair and smile. Let Webb scheme. Let the bank question my judgment. Let the internet have its opinions.
I've been chosen by an orc who takes dishwashing seriously and handles bread dough like it matters. Who defended me to thousands of strangers and gave me a piece of himself to carry.
Whatever comes next, I'm not facing it alone anymore.
And that's worth every risk.
CHAPTER 10
KORGAN
