“I can see that.”
He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and rose from his desk. “It’s time for our afternoon patrol. It’s important we maintain a visible presence, especially during peak tourist hours.”
We stepped out onto the boardwalk, the wooden planks creaking beneath us. The afternoon sun warmed my face as we fell into step together, his long strides slowing to accommodate my shorter ones.
“My standard route takes us around the perimeter, then through the main square,” Dungar said, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly beside me. “We check in with each business, make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
Our arms brushed as a family squeezed past us on the boardwalk. The brief contact sent warmth all the way down to my hand, and I forced myself to maintain a professional expression despite the way my heart was flipping around in my chest. I’d faced down corporate thugs and testified against crime lords. I could handle walking next to an attractive orc without melting into a puddle.
“The town layout follows traditional frontier designs.” Dungar gestured toward the carefully arranged buildings. “But we’ve incorporated orc architectural elements, including higher doorways. Our king provided funding with the understanding we’d create a true cultural exchange, not just a simple tourist destination.”
His pride in what they’d built came through in every word. It was clear love had gone into creating this place.
“Excuse me, Sheriff?” A middle-aged man in a plaid shirt waved us down. “Could you tell me when the next trail ride leaves? My kids are dying to see those, uh, sor-something animals.”
“Sorhoxes,” I said, then froze. I’d only been here aday, and I had no idea what the schedule was. “The afternoon rides are at…” I fumbled, trying to recall anything useful from the materials I’d studied in Dungar’s office.
Without missing a beat, Dungar reached into his pocket and produced a neatly folded schedule printed on cardstock, handing it toward the man. “Two o’clock, three-thirty, and five o’clock. Each ride lasts approximately forty-five minutes and accommodates all skill levels.”
“Thanks.” The man took the schedule and hurried off.
“Sorry. I should have studied the activities more before we?—”
“You haven’t been here long,” Dungar said, his voice kind. “And you spent most of it locked in a jail cell.”
We shared a smile that felt like a secret between us.
A few minutes later, a woman with a camera approached me directly. “Excuse me, Deputy? I’m looking for the best spots to photograph the town. Something that really captures the western feel.”
This time, I knew the answer. “The ridge behind the Function Barn offers a panoramic view of the entire valley. If you want something more intimate, the water tower creates beautiful silhouettes against the sky. There are stairs inside, and you can exit onto a secure deck at the top.”
Her face brightened. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”
As she walked away, Dungar’s dark eyes settled onme with unmistakable approval. “Well done. The water tower is one of my favorite spots.”
“I noticed it when I first arrived. It struck me as the kind of place where you could see everything without being seen.”
Old habits. Always looking for vantage points, escape routes, places to hide.
Dungar nodded. “It’s peaceful up there. I go sometimes when I need to think.”
We continued our patrol, falling into an easy rhythm that surprised me. When tourists approached, we instinctively knew which of us should handle each question. Dungar’s knowledge of schedules and safety protocols complemented my ability to connect with people looking for authentic experiences.
It felt natural. Comfortable. Dangerous.
The more smoothly we worked together, the harder it became to remember why I couldn’t let myself grow attached. My training had taught me to blend in, to adapt quickly, but this was different. This wasn’t only adapting, it was belonging.
And belonging was the one luxury I couldn’t afford.
Our patrol route took us past a large paddock at the edge of town where a crowd had gathered around a fenced enclosure. Inside, one of Dungar’s brothers was demonstrating something to wide-eyed tourists.
“I’ll introduce you to Ruugar when he’s finished,” Dungar said.
“And this,” Ruugar said in a booming voice,carefully opening a small wooden crate. “Is a beloved creature from the orc kingdom.”
Children pressed against the fence as he reached inside and gently lifted out what looked like a cross between a rabbit and a lizard. The creature’s iridescent fur shimmered in the sunlight, and a row of delicate spines along its back winked with soft blue light.
“This is a luminook.” Ruugar cradled the creature tenderly. “They live deep within our caverns, their light guiding us through the darkest passages.”
