The woman standing beside her was human. She was perhaps a few years younger than Verity, with dark hair pulled back from a round face.
"I—yes." Verity's voice came out slightly strangled. "I'm Verity. Verity Dunmore. The archivist."
The woman's smile widened. "I'm Delia. Delia Stonefang. And you were staring."
Verity's skin prickled from her collarbones to her hairline, and she pressed her lips together. "I was not—I was simply—the training techniques are—"
"Shirtless," Delia supplied helpfully. "The training techniques are shirtless."
"That is not what I was going to say."
"No, but it's what you were thinking." Delia's eyes were bright with barely contained laughter. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
Verity wished, briefly and fervently, for the ground to open beneath her feet.
"I was simply taking a break from the archives," she managed. "The courtyard was... active. I was observing the... the martial customs of..."
She trailed off. Delia was watching her with an expression of pure delight.
"You're very bad at this," Delia said.
"Bad at what?"
"Pretending you weren't just admiring the warchief's muscles." Delia moved to stand beside her at the low wall that bordered the courtyard overlook. "It's all right. They're very impressive. I remember the first time I saw Ralvar without his shirt."
"Ralvar?"
"My bond-mate. The Captain of the Northwatch Patrol." Delia nodded toward the training yard.
Verity felt her eyebrows rise before she could stop them. "You're—"
"Bonded to an orc, yes." Delia's hand drifted to her stomach. "And expecting, as of recently."
Verity's gaze followed the movement, and understanding clicked into place. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." Delia's smile softened.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the warriors train. Verity's embarrassment had faded into curiosity. Deliawas human. Delia was built like her. And Delia had found something here that had made her stay.
"I heard you've been living in the archives," Delia said eventually. "Emerging only for meals and occasionally to stare at shirtless warchiefs."
"I do not—" Verity stopped. Took a breath. "I have been... focused on my work."
"Kira says you've been skipping breakfast." Delia turned to face her fully. "She asked me to check on you. Make sure you were eating. Sleeping. Doing the things humans need to do to stay functional."
"I'm functional."
Delia laughed, and the sound was warm and unguarded in a way that made Verity exhale for what felt like the first time in days.
"Come have tea with me," Delia said. "I have a kettle in my quarters, and you clearly need someone to remind you that humans require conversation occasionally."
Verity opened her mouth to refuse. She had work to do. She had threads to trace, connections to map, and somewhere in that labyrinth of documents, was a reference to Thornfield Pass that she had not yet found.
But Delia was looking at her with an expression that was part concern and part recognition. The look of someone who understood what it meant to be a human woman in a place built for beings twice her size.
"I don't want to impose," Verity said.
"You're not imposing. I'm kidnapping you." Delia linked her arm through Verity's with a casual intimacy that startled her. "Consider it an exchange. You can tell me about the archives, and I can tell you what I know about the warchief, and we can both pretend we're not watching the training yard through my window while we talk."
