Iregret this already.
The thought loops through my mind as Falla approaches my cabin, his knock precise and exactly on time because of course it is. He probably planned his route to the second, calculated how long it would take to walk here, accounted for every variable.
I open the door before he can knock again.
"Ready?" he asks.
No. Absolutely not. Every instinct screams at me to slam the door, lock myself inside, pretend I never agreed to this madness.
"Sure," I say instead.
His blue-green eyes narrow slightly, reading the lie with the same efficiency he uses to assess injuries. But he doesn't call me out, just steps back to give me space to exit.
The morning air hits my face—cool, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and something cooking that makes my stomach twist. I haven't been this far from the cabin in weeks. Even the short distance to the door feels like crossing a threshold I can't uncross.
Falla falls into step beside me, not ahead, not behind. Exactly beside, like he's measured the distance between us and decided this is the precise amount of space I need to not feel cornered.
"You look like you're walking to your execution," he says.
"Feels like it."
"The worst thing that happens today is Drogath performs dramatically and makes us do something stupid." He keeps his voice matter-of-fact, stripped of false reassurance. "That's it. Nothing worse."
I want to believe him. The rational part of my brain knows he's right—this is a festival, a celebration, something meant to be fun and ridiculous. But the other part, the part that still feels fingers gripping too tight and voices laughing while I bled, that part doesn't care about rationality.
We round the corner and the settlement center comes into view.
My steps falter.
There are so many of them. Orcs everywhere—gathering in clusters, laughing, moving with that easy confidence that comes from belonging somewhere. They're huge, all of them, built like they could break me without trying. The logical part of my brain knows these are Frostfang, knows they're different from the Stonevein who held me captive.
The rest of me doesn't care about the distinction.
Falla's hand appears at my elbow—light contact, easy to break, just enough pressure to ground me. And oddly…I find comfort in it. I'm used to his touch.
"Breathe," he says quietly.
I do, forcing air past the constriction in my chest. In through nose, out through mouth, the way he taught me weeks ago when panic first started stealing my breath.
"We don't have to stay," he continues, still in that clinical tone. "Say the word and we leave."
The offer helps more than it should. Just knowing the exit exists makes walking toward the crowd fractionally more possible.
We move forward together, Falla adjusting his pace to match mine. He positions himself slightly ahead as we enter the gathering, creating a buffer between me and the nearest orcs. They notice us—how could they not, a human woman they all know was rescued from enemy territory—but Falla's presence seems to communicate something, because they give us space.
Saela spots us almost immediately, her face lighting up with genuine joy that makes guilt twist in my stomach. She's been so worried, visiting when she can, bringing food I barely touch and comfort I can't quite accept. The happiness on her face now, seeing me out of the cabin, participating in something...
I'm going to disappoint her. I know I am. This won't last.
She starts toward us, and I brace for the interaction, but Kai intercepts her with a hand on her shoulder, murmuring something I can't hear. Saela nods, understanding crossing her features, and instead of approaching she just waves, giving me space I desperately need.
"Your friend's smarter than she looks," Falla mutters.
"Saela's always been smart."
"Not that smart. She mated Kai."
The dry delivery startles a sound out of me—not quite a laugh, but close enough that Falla's mouth twitches with something that might be satisfaction.
