Or all three, because Ressa contains multitudes she's still learning to navigate.
I clean my workspace with more attention than necessary, organizing supplies that don't need organizing and checking inventory levels I catalogued yesterday. Stalling, because thealternative is admitting I'm looking forward to seeing her in ways that have nothing to do with medical monitoring.
She's becoming a friend. That's the appropriate frame for this. A patient who's graduated to friend status through proximity and shared ridiculous festival challenges. Nothing unusual about enjoying someone's company or appreciating their sharp observations or noticing how her rare smiles transform her entire face.
Just friends. Very normal friendly observations about a very beautiful woman who makes my chest do complicated things when she looks at me certain ways.
I'm completely professional about this.
The lie would be more convincing if I hadn't spent twenty minutes this morning making sure my hair was properly tied back and my clothing didn't smell too strongly of healing herbs. Standard grooming, I'd told myself. Nothing to do with wanting to look presentable.
Another hollow lie in a growing collection.
I finish my unnecessary organizing and head toward the gathering area where Drogath has arranged the evening ritual. Firelight already flickers from the central pit, and orcs cluster in loose pairs throughout the space. Ursik is sprawled nearby with Kerra, both of them already holding drinking vessels and arguing about something with animated gestures. I spot Bronn and Kai standing across the fire, talking to each other.
I scan the crowd and find Ressa immediately, which shouldn't feel significant but does anyway.
She walks toward the gathering area with Shae and Saela, the three of them moving together like they've formed their own small unit. Shae says something that makes Saela laugh, and Ressa's mouth curves in response—not quite a smile but close enough that my chest does that complicated thing again.
She's wearing the same practical layers she always does, but she's added a green scarf that matches the festival requirements. The color brings out the brown of her eyes in ways I definitely notice while maintaining complete professional detachment.
Her gaze finds mine across the gathering space and something shifts in her expression. Not quite relief, but recognition. Like seeing me settles something uncertain in her the same way seeing her settles something in me.
Friends. This is normal friend behavior.
She separates from Shae and Saela—Shae heading toward where Bronn stands with his brother, Saela moving to join Kai—and crosses to where I'm standing with steps that still favor her left leg slightly. The limp is barely noticeable now, would be invisible to anyone not cataloguing her movement patterns, but I see it and have to resist the urge to ask about her pain levels.
"You look like you've had a day," she observes when she reaches me.
"Three dislocated shoulders, five sprained ankles, two split lips, and one idiot who thought pinching meant wrestling." I gesture toward an open space near the fire's edge. "Apparently yesterday's challenges inspired competitive escalation."
"Males." She says it with the same exasperated tone I'd used earlier, and something warm unfolds in my chest at the shared observation.
We settle into the space I'd indicated—close enough to the fire for warmth but not so close we're surrounded by other pairs. Ressa sits with careful control that suggests her ribs are bothering her, though she'd deny it if I asked directly.
I don't ask. She'll tell me if it becomes unbearable, and pushing when she's not ready only makes her retreat.
"Shae seems happy," I comment instead, watching Bronn's mate laugh at something another female said. "I know she's beenhappy they were participating instead of Bronn so focused on everyone else."
"She told me Bronn's actually enjoying himself." Ressa's tone carries mild disbelief. "Apparently he's less terrifying when he's drunk."
"Bronn's always terrifying. Alcohol just makes him affectionate about it."
Her mouth twitches toward a smile and I count it as victory even while telling myself that tracking her expressions is normal friend behavior and definitely not an increasingly desperate catalog of every small shift in her features.
Drogath climbs onto the central platform with the kind of dramatic flair that suggests he's been rehearsing this moment. His ceremonial robes—decorated with what he insists are ancient human symbols but look suspiciously like random green marks—billow around him as he raises both arms for attention.
"Partners of the Verdant Festival!" His voice booms across the gathering. "Tonight we honor the Fourth Trial—the Brew of Honesty! Just as the great Padraig the Verdant Slayer shared truth-telling drinks with his chosen companion, so too shall we strip away deception's serpent and reveal the strength that lies in honest partnership!"
"He's so dramatic," Ressa murmurs beside me.
"He's been practicing that speech for two days."
"It shows."
The warmth in my chest spreads. Friends appreciate each other's observations. This is fine.
"The brew before you carries sacred properties!" Drogath continues, gesturing toward the large vessels being distributed among the pairs. "Drink together, speak honestly, and let the bonds of partnership reveal their true nature beneath the serpent's stripped skin!"
