"She trusts me because I've maintained boundaries."
"Yes."
"So I can't—" I gesture helplessly. "I can't act on this. It would be taking advantage."
"Not necessarily." Kai's tone stays level, honest. "If you had only seen her to heal her, then maybe. But this is different, and the circumstances don't mean your feelings aren't real. Doesn't mean they'll just disappear if you ignore them."
I know he's right. The knowledge sits heavy and uncomfortable in my chest.
"What did you do?" I ask. "With Saela."
"Waited. Let her set the pace. Tried not to be an idiot about it." He smiles slightly. "Mostly failed at the last part, but the waiting worked eventually."
"How did you know when it was time to stop waiting?"
"I didn't. She told me." His expression softens with what looks like memory. "She was ready when she was ready. Nothing I did or didn't do changed that timeline."
The advice settles into understanding. Wait. Let Ressa set the pace. Don't push or confess or do anything that might make her feel pressured.
Be patient while simultaneously managing feelings that grow stronger every time she smiles at me.
"I'm still fucked," I mutter.
"Yes," Kai agrees. "But at least you know it."
12
RESSA
My head feels like someone took a hammer to it repeatedly, then filled the cracks with sand and regret.
I stand next to Falla in the gathering clearing, acutely aware of every single sound—the murmur of conversation, the crackle of the fire, even the way fabric rustles when people shift position. Everything registers too loud, too sharp, a reminder that I drank far more yesterday than my body was prepared to handle.
And I don't remember half of it.
That's the worst part. The memories exist in fragments—Falla's voice, steady and calm. His arms carrying me. The smell of herbs and smoke. Saying things I definitely shouldn't have said but can't quite recall the specifics of.
I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He looks completely unaffected by yesterday's festivities, standing with that same neutral expression he always wears, blue-green eyes scanning the gathered crowd with clinical assessment.
He hasn't mentioned anything about yesterday. Hasn't brought up whatever mortifying confessions I probably made or how I clearly needed to be carried home like a child.
Professional silence. Healer discretion.
I should be grateful. Instead I'm just embarrassed.
Around us, it's clear I'm not the only one suffering. Most of the gathered orcs look distinctly worse for wear—eyes slightly glazed, movements more careful than usual, several wincing at louder sounds.
Ursik looks actively terrible.
The massive orc captain sways slightly on his feet, his usual boisterous energy replaced by something that looks like barely contained nausea. Kerra keeps shooting him amused looks while he tries to maintain dignity through what's clearly a catastrophic hangover.
"You look like death," Falla observes, his voice carrying just enough to reach Ursik's ears.
Ursik's response comes as a low groan. "I'm fine."
"Yes. Very convincing." Kai appears beside his friend, a smirk playing at his mouth that suggests zero sympathy. "How many times did you visit the waste bucket this morning?"
"That's private medical information."
