She shakes her head. Wraps both hands around her coffee cup, white-knuckled, holding on.
I keep eating. She keeps watching.
It's not subtle. Her eyes track every movement—my hands tearing flesh from bone, my tusks working through cartilage, the grease on my fingers, my chin. She's trying not to stare and failing badly.
"You're staring."
Her eyes snap to her cup. A flush crawls up her neck.
"Sorry. I just—"
"Never seen an orc eat?"
She doesn't answer. I tear off another piece of meat, let my tusks do some of the work. My tusks scrape bone. I don't look away from her.
There's no point pretending to be something I'm not.
"Not up close," she admits.
"Uncomfortable?"
She should lie. I can see her considering it—the polite deflection, theit's fine, theI didn't mean to stare. But my face must tell her I'll know if she does.
"A little."
I finish the leg, start on the thigh. The meat is tender, perfectly cooked, and I'm not bothering with manners because part of me wants her to be uncomfortable. Part of me wants her to see exactly what she's locked in here with.
"Good," I say. "Stay uncomfortable. Keeps you alert."
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away.
I work through the chicken while she nurses coffee that's gone cold. Outside, the sun climbs higher.
When I finish, I wash my hands. She's still on her first cup.
"You need to eat something."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're running on caffeine and fear." I dry my hands on a dish towel, taking my time. "There's bread. Peanut butter. Fruit Maya left. Pick something."
"I said I'm fine."
"And I said pick something."
Her jaw tightens. Those green eyes flash—not fear. Anger. For a second I think she's going to fight me on it. For a second I almost want her to.
Then she stands. Crosses to the counter. Yanks a banana off the bunch.
"Happy?"
"Thrilled."
She rips the peel back. Takes a bite. Glares at me while she chews.
I almost smile. Don't.
The hours crawl after that. She drifts through the cottage—window to window, room to room. She runs her fingers along surfaces. Picks things up and puts them down. I know thefeeling. The walls pressing in. The itch under your skin that saysmove, run, do something.
