"Humans First got every right to be here." He taps his red cap. "This is our town."
"Then act like it." I hold his eyes and keep my voice level, even though my heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat. "Because right now you're harassing a mother and her kid in a diner. That's not standing up for anything. That's bullying."
The diner goes quiet. Every eye fixed on us.
The man's face darkens. "You don't know what you're talking about. These monsters—"
"Are people." I keep my voice level. "Customers. A family trying to eat lunch. And if you can't handle that, the door's right behind you."
His expression shifts. His buddies exchange glances. The mother slips past with her son while I hold his attention.
For a long moment, nobody moves.
Then the man steps back. "Whatever." He jerks his chin at his friends. "Let's go. Food here tastes like crap anyway."
They shove past me toward the door. One of them mutters under his breath. The other spits on the floor by my feet.
I don't react. I don't move until they're gone.
My hands start shaking the moment the door swings shut.
"Sarah." Betty appears at my elbow, face pale. "Are you—"
"I'm fine." The words come out automatic. "I'm fine. I just—I need a minute."
I turn toward the kitchen and the bell rings again.
Heavy boots on linoleum. Conversation dying. A presence that fills the doorway like a storm rolling in.
I know who it is before I turn around.
Knox fills the doorway, backlit by pale October sun. His leather vest strains across shoulders wide enough to block the light, silver threading through his black hair, iron-capped tusks catching the fluorescents.
He sees everything. I can tell by the way his jaw hardens. By the way his gaze tracks to the spit on the floor, then back to my face.
He watched through the window.
Knox walks forward without a word. The remaining customers shrink back—not from fear. Respect. The kind of space people make for someone who owns it.
He passes the table where the Humans First men sat. Their abandoned coffee cups rattle when his boots hit the floor. Then he reaches the counter and lowers himself onto a stool like he's got all the time in the world.
"Coffee." His voice scrapes gravel. "Black."
Betty vanishes into the kitchen. I'm left standing here with trembling hands and a racing heart and an orc president who hasn't looked away from my face.
Two weeks. Two weeks of silence, of avoiding me, of sending his brothers to drive past my apartment instead of coming himself. And now he sits at my counter like nothing happened.
I grab the pot and walk over, filling his cup. When I set it down, he reaches for it at the same time I pull back. His fingers graze mine on the handle.
Heat shoots through me—the same jolt I felt that first night when he touched my face, the same pull I felt in the guest room. My breath catches.
Knox's nostrils flare. His grip tightens on the ceramic.
"Didn't take you for someone who picks fights," His voice drops low, meant for me alone.
"Didn't take you for someone who lurks. Or hides."
His jaw hardens. He knows what I mean.
