"I don't even remember getting hit. Just the window shattering. Daniels shoving me toward the back door. Running."
I gave Carver the facts. The timeline. What I saw, what I heard, who fired first. But I've never told anyone what it felt like. Standing here in the dark with his hand still warm on my shoulder, it just falls out.
His fingers curl. Not into a fist—into a grip. Holding my shoulder, holding on.
Then he lets go and steps back, his hands dropping to his sides.
"Humans," he says quietly, "are the most violent animals on this planet."
Not some humans. Not those humans.
Humans.
The rage coiled tight inside him. He's not just angry that someone hurt me.
He's angry that my species keeps proving what his kind already knew about us.
"Inside," he says. His voice is wrecked. "I'll change the bandage and make food."
He doesn't mention the wound. But when we walk back to the cottage, he puts himself between me and the open yard.
I let him.
***
Inside, he changes the bandage first. He's careful, but there's a tremor in his fingers that wasn't there yesterday. Neither of us mentions it.
When he moves toward the stove, I catch his arm.
"You've cooked every meal. Let me."
He looks at my hand on his arm, and I let go.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. You let me outside. Let me do this."
He looks at me, then steps back.
I find leftover pasta from whatever Maya made in the fridge, plus two chicken breasts. Orcs eat meat—lots of it, from what I've seen. I grill the chicken, slice it thick, serve it over the reheated pasta. The portion I set in front of Diesel is twice the size of mine, but it still looks small in front of him.
He picks up his fork. I raise my eyebrows.
"Edible," he says after the first bite.
Good enough. I'll take it.
I sit down across from him and start on my own plate. The chicken came out better than I expected—crispy on the outside, still juicy. I'm three bites in when I glance up and realize hisplate is already half gone. He's not shoveling it in, exactly, but each forkful is substantial, and they're disappearing fast.
He finishes before I'm halfway through, sets down his fork, and reaches for his water.
My stomach drops. I underestimated. Badly. That plate was barely an appetizer for someone his size.
He doesn't complain.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
He pulls it out and reads the screen. His face goes blank. Too blank.
