Now he stood at the edge of the scaffolding area, watching the installation crew finish positioning the last heater.
"This one goes there," he said, pointing to a spot he'd calculated based on her typical working patterns. "Angled thirty degrees east."
"Sir, the heat distribution will be?—"
"Thirty degrees east."
The worker adjusted the heater.
"And the lighting?" he continued. "The lumens need to be?—"
"4000K color temperature, 5000 lumens minimum, positioned to eliminate shadows on the primary work surface." The crew chief read from his notes. "We've got it, Mr. Stonefist. Third time you've confirmed."
"Fourth."
"Right. Fourth." The man's expression suggested he was reconsidering his life choices. "We'll have it done in twenty minutes."
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen it is."
He watched them work, cataloguing every detail. The lights were positioned precisely as he'd specified—bright enough to prevent eye strain, but warm enough to render colors accurately. The heaters were spaced to create overlapping zones of warmth, ensuring no cold spots in Edie's usual work area.
It’s practical,he reminded himself.An artist needs proper conditions. This is about productivity.
The lie was getting less convincing every time he told it.
The truth was simpler and more terrifying: the thought of her being cold made something in his chest physically hurt. The thought of her straining her eyes in poor lighting made his jawclench. The thought of her being uncomfortable in any way, for any reason, while he had the power to prevent it?—
Mate.
The word surfaced again. He'd been avoiding it. He’d been treating it like a superstition, something orcs whispered about but didn't actually believe. But the evidence was becoming impossible to ignore. The compulsive need to feed her. The territorial rage when others got too close. The way his entire body oriented towards her presence like a compass finding north.
And now this: the sick, desperate need to protect her from every possible harm, no matter how minor.
This wasn't just attraction. This wasn't even love, not in the simple human sense. This was something older and deeper. Something carved into his DNA by generations of orc ancestors who had survived by finding one person and keeping them safe at any cost.
Edie was his mate. And she had no idea.
"Mr. Stonefist?" The crew chief's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "We're done."
Tarmek blinked. The lights blazed overhead, bathing the mural site in warm, even illumination. The heaters hummed softly, already raising the temperature of the surrounding air.
"Test the systems," he ordered.
"Already did. Everything's functional."
"Test them again."
After a barely audible sight, the crew chief ran through the systems a second time. Lights on. Lights off. Lights on. Heaters cycling through their settings. Everything worked perfectly.
"Acceptable," he said finally.
"High praise." The sarcasm was subtle but present. "Anything else?"
"The invoices go to me. Not team accounting. Personal account."
That earned a raised eyebrow. "This is... a personal expense?"
