“Chaos, probably.” His voice is flat. Clinical. “The Ledger Master’s fall leaves a vacuum. Other contract lords will try to claim Gravebind. Powers from outside the city will smell weakness.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Could be.”
“More dangerous than the last several days?”
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Maybe not.”
I let the silence stretch again. Watch the sunlight creep across rooftops, painting the city gold. It’s beautiful, in its way. Gravebind has never been beautiful before—it’s been oppressive, predatory, a machine designed to consume. But in this light, with the Ledger Master’s shadow lifted, I can see what it might become.
“I should go.”
The words hit like a blow. I turn to look at him—at the hard line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he won’t quite meet my eyes.
“What?”
“I have blood on my hands.” He stares at the city. Not at me. “Debts I collected that were real. People who died because I was the Ledger Master’s weapon. Families I destroyed. Souls I delivered.”
“Rathok—”
“Two centuries.” His voice is quiet. Hollow. “Two centuries of doing what I was told. Following orders. Telling myself it was justice, or at least necessary. I knew it was wrong. I did it anyway.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
“I had a choice.” He turns to look at me. Those dark eyes, holding something I can’t name. “I could have died. Could have refused and let the contracts consume me. I chose to live. Chose to survive at any cost.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not the hero of this story, Ivalys. I’m the monster who got lucky.”
“That’s not?—”
“It would be easier for you.” He cuts me off. “If I left. You could rebuild without the former enforcer haunting your doorstep. Start fresh. Find someone who doesn’t have graveyards in his past.”
I stare at him. At this massive, scarred, infuriatingly stubborn orc who killed for the Ledger Master and then broke every oath he’d ever sworn because I looked at him without fear.
Something breaks open in my chest. Not pain—clarity. The kind of sudden, devastating understanding that changes everything.
I’ve been telling myself this was survival. Alliance. Mutual benefit in a desperate situation. I’ve been telling myself I couldn’t afford to feel anything more, because feeling meant exposure. Meant risk. Meant death.
But sitting here, watching him try to convince himself he should leave—watching him prepare to walk away because he thinks he’s not good enough for me—the truth I admitted inthe Ledger Hall hits differently. Without the fear. Without the adrenaline. Without death breathing down our necks.
I love him.
Not the desperate, battlefield version I clung to when everything was falling apart. This is the clear-eyed, morning-after version. The one that looks at him in sunlight and still chooses this. I love him. Not despite what he is—because of it. Because he’s brutal and scarred and carries darkness in his past, and he still chose me. Still broke himself apart to keep me safe.
