She stands on the threshold holding a small bundle wrapped in cloth, her smile warm but cautious. "Brought you some of the stew from dinner."
We both know I wouldn't venture out to find food.
My stomach chooses that moment to remind me I haven't eaten since morning, growling loud enough to be audible. Saela's smile widens fractionally as she steps inside without waiting for invitation.
The cabin feels less oppressive with her presence filling it—her energy somehow making the walls feel less like they're closing in today. It's nice. She settles into the chair near the hearth while I take the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal still-warm stew and bread.
"So," Saela starts, her tone carefully casual. "How was Day 2?"
I busy myself with the food, buying time to formulate an answer that isn't complete deception but also won't send her into worried-friend mode. The stew tastes better than it probably is, or maybe I'm just hungry enough not to care.
"It was fine," I manage between bites. "We didn't win, obviously. Ursik and Kerra destroyed everyone."
"Ursik's been planning strategy since Drogath announced this whole thing." Saela leans back in her chair, relaxed in a way I envy. "Pretty sure he made charts."
The image of Ursik bent over tactical diagrams for a festival competition pulls a genuine laugh from somewhere in my chest. "Of course he did."
"Kai said he lectured them for an hour about optimal serpent-finding techniques." Saela's eyes crinkle with amusement. "An hour. About wooden tokens."
We fall into easier conversation—Saela recounting moments from her day, the ridiculous competitiveness of some pairs, Drogath's increasing investment in making this festival "authentic" despite having no actual knowledge of human traditions.
It feels almost normal. Almost like the friendship we had before everything fractured.
But Saela's too observant to miss the shadows under my eyes or the tension I can't quite shake from my shoulders. Eventually, her expression shifts to something more serious.
"How are you really doing with all this?" The question comes gently, without accusation. "And don't say fine. I know you better than that."
I set the empty bowl aside, buying a few more seconds. The urge to deflect sits heavy on my tongue—to maintain the facade that everything's manageable, that I'm healing properly, that the festivals are just mildly uncomfortable rather than actively triggering.
But this is Saela. My oldest friend. The person who's known me longest and seen me at my worst.
"It's bringing up bad memories," I admit, the words scraping out reluctantly. Surprisingly, Falla is the only one I've been honest with, and I don't know why. "The hunting challenge today—being tracked through the forest. It reminded me of..." I trail off, unable to articulate the specific moments without falling back into them.
Saela's expression tightens with understanding and guilt. She was there, too. "Ressa, you don't have to do this. You can stop anytime. I never wanted?—"
"I know." I cut her off before she can spiral into self-blame. "But Falla's helping me work through them. The memories. He..." I pause, searching for words that won't sound ridiculous. "He doesn't treat me like I'm broken. He just helps me breathe through the panic and doesn't make it into this huge dramatic thing."
"He's good at that." Saela's voice carries something warm, almost knowing. "The whole 'clinical detachment that's somehow more comforting than sympathy' thing."
"It shouldn't be comforting." The words come out sharp. "He's an orc. I should be terrified of him."
"But you're not."
The statement sits between us, impossible to deny. I'm wary of Falla, yes. Uncomfortable sometimes with his presence and his directness and the way he sees through my defenses. But terrified? No. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, even in those early days when I could barely stand being in the same room as him.
"It doesn't make sense," I mutter, more to myself than her.
"Feelings rarely do." Saela stands, moving toward the door with the careful grace she's developed from living among orcs. "But for what it's worth? Falla's a good male. Probably one of the best I've met, orc or human."
The conviction in her voice makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Because deep down, in the parts of myself I don't want to examine too closely, I know she's right.
Falla is good. Patient and blunt and frustratingly perceptive, but fundamentally good in ways that terrify me because acknowledging it means confronting how much of my fear is based on what happened rather than who he actually is.
8
FALLA
The morning air carries a bite that has nothing to do with temperature. I stand outside Ressa's cabin, hand raised to knock, wondering if I've misjudged this entire arrangement.
