"Systems, Rogan. They start early."
He groans but he's smiling. "You're going to kill me."
"Only if you don't kill yourself first with poor planning." I head for the door again, this time actually leaving. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."
"Ivy?"
I pause on the threshold.
"Thank you. For believing I can do this."
"I don't believe you can do this."
His face falls.
"I believe you might be able to do this. If you listen. If you focus. If you stop trying to do everything yourself and accept help." I meet his eyes. "That's not the same as belief. That's conditional faith."
"I'll take it."
I step outside into the cool night air. The town is quiet, most windows dark. Above, stars scatter across a sky unpolluted by city lights. Somewhere a dog barks once, then silence.
Three days.
I walk to my truck, already running through mental checklists. Suppliers to call. Ingredients to verify. Safety protocols to review. A test kitchen session to schedule.
And one chaotic orc chef to somehow mold into something resembling professional.
I climb into the truck, start the engine.
My phone buzzes. A text from Maya:Thank you for not murdering him. He needs this. We all do.
I type back:Three days. Tell him to be ready.
Her response is immediate:He will be. You're scary when you're determined.
I smile despite myself, pulling out of the parking lot.
Scary. Practical. Controlling.
All true.
But also willing to bet on long odds and late-night promises and the slim chance that care and chaos might actually find balance.
For three days, at least.
After that, we'll see if conditional faith is enough.
CHAPTER 5
ROGAN
The oven dies at five forty-three PM.
I know because I'm staring at the clock when the temperature gauge drops to zero and the pilot light winks out like a bad joke.
"No." I crouch, peer at the ancient gas line. "No, no, no. Not tonight."
"Problem?" Maya appears at my shoulder, already dressed in her cleanest black shirt for service.
