"Chose their traditions over me a long time ago. I'm just returning the favor."
"Don't do this because of me. Don't throw away your entire culture?—"
"I'm not throwing it away. I'm redefining it. On my terms."
She's crying now, silent tears tracking through her makeup. I wipe them away with my thumbs.
"We're going to expose them," I say. "We're going to protect your bakery. And then I'm going to stand in front of cameras and tell my people, tell everyone, that I choose you. Publicly. Irrevocably."
"That's insane."
"Probably."
"They'll never forgive you."
"Don't need their forgiveness. Just yours."
She laughs through the tears. "You're the worst at romantic speeches."
"I'm working on it."
She kisses me then, fierce and claiming, tasting like salt and determination and something that might be hope.
When we break apart, she says: "Let's burn their world down."
"Together."
"There is one loose end," I say, glancing toward the parking lot.
"Brunhilde."
"The woman with the battle-axe?"
"She is waiting for a combat date."
Trinity smiles, though her eyes are tired.
"Go. Let her down easy. Or honorably. Whatever orcs do."
I leave Trinity organizing the evidence and head back to the parking lot.
Brunhilde is leaning against her rental SUV, sharpening the blade of her axe with a whetstone. She looks up as I approach, her grin wide and tusks gleaming.
"Done with duty? Ready for battle?"
"The battle is here," I tell her.
"But my partner has already been chosen."
Brunhilde pauses, the whetstone stilling against the steel. She studies my face, looking for hesitation. She finds none.
"The baker," she states.
"The baker." She snorts, then sheathes the axe with a sharp click.
"A warrior fights for who he chooses. If she is worth defying the Circle for, she must have a strong spirit."
"She does."
