"Oh." Her eyes flick to Diesel, then back to me. "You must be Eden."
I nod but don't let go of his hand.
She sets the dish on the side table. "I'm Helen. I work at the town diner." She looks at Diesel, then back at me. "How is he?"
"Maya says he'll recover." My voice breaks on the last word. "God, I hope she's right."
"Diesel's too stubborn to die on us." Helen shakes her head. "They all are."
She gestures to the dish. "Chicken and dumplings—his favorite. Brought plenty for both of you." She pats my shoulder. "When he wakes up, make sure you both eat."
"I will."
She pauses at the door and looks back at Diesel one more time.
"We worry about him," she says quietly. "All of us. He's—" She stops and shakes her head. "He's family."
She leaves.
People showing up with food. Checking on him. Calling him family.
He doesn't know how loved he is. I'm going to make sure he finds out.
I look at the covered dish, at the door she walked through, at the orc in the bed.
***
I don't mean to fall asleep.
One minute I'm watching his face, the way his tusk catches the dim light. The next, my head is on the mattress beside his hip and I'm drifting, pulled under by exhaustion I've been fighting for hours.
I don't know how long I'm like that.
What wakes me is his hand moving in mine, fingers tightening.
I lift my head. His eyes are open. Barely—slits of dark and gold—but open.
"Eden."
"I'm here."
"Ravgor," he breathes, eyes half-lidded. "Call me Ravgor."
My throat tightens. He told me that name the night he stayed with me through my nightmare. Fire-touched. Marked by flame. The name his people gave him before the camps, before everything.
And he's giving it to me.
"Ravgor," I whisper, leaning close. "I'm here, Ravgor."
His eyes close. The tension in his face unknots—broken, bleeding, alive, and hearing his name from my mouth is what he needed.
"Stay," he murmurs. "The cottage. Shadow Ridge. Me."
I think about all the places I've been this year. My apartment that never felt safe. The safe houses that weren't. The hotel rooms that blurred together.
And the cottage. The creaky floors. The kitchen that smelled like whatever he was cooking. The bed that was too small where I slept better than I had in years.
"Okay."
