Crying was useless.
But the pressure behind her eyes didn't care about logic. It built anyway, a storm she couldn't outrun no matter how many brushstrokes she put between herself and the truth.
I’m going to miss him.
She was going to miss everything—his ridiculous organization systems, his midnight snacks that he pretended were about nutrition, the way his whole face transformed when he smiled. She was going to miss the team dinners and the inside jokes and the feeling of being part of something bigger than herself.
She was going to miss belonging.
God, when did I start feeling like I belonged?
Somewhere between the chaos and the arguments and the spectacular sex, she'd stopped being a visitor. She'd become part of the fabric of this place—the arena, the team, the community that gathered around the Emerald Enforcers like a quirky, dysfunctional family.
Kids knew her name now. Sam asked her opinion on marketing decisions. Brogan had started calling her "little chaos," which was somehow both insulting and affectionate. She'd woven herself into Greenwood Hollow's tapestry, and cutting herself free was going to hurt.
A soft sound echoed through the empty arena and she tensed, her brush frozen mid-stroke. Footsteps. Heavy ones, measured and familiar. She didn't turn around. Couldn't. If she looked at him right now, she'd break.
The footsteps stopped at the base of the scaffolding.
"You should be sleeping." His voice was rough, thick with something she didn't want to examine too closely.
"I could say the same about you."
"I woke up. You weren't there."
I wasn't there.
Such simple words for such a complicated truth. She hadn't been there because lying next to him was torture. Because every breath of his familiar scent, every brush of his skin against hers, reminded her of what she was about to lose.
"Couldn't sleep," she said. "Figured I'd be productive instead."
A long pause. She could feel him watching her, that intense orc gaze cataloging every detail—the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand gripped the brush too tightly, the smear of blue paint that still marred the wall.
"You've been up here for hours."
"How do you know that?"
"I checked the security footage."
Of course he had. He noticed everything, tracked everything, monitored everything. It should have felt invasive. Instead, it just felt like care.
Stop making this harder than it has to be.
"I'm almost done with this section," she said, forcing her voice to stay level. "Another hour, maybe. Then I'll come back."
Come back.Like his condo was home. Like she had any right to call it that.
Another pause. She heard him shift, and heard the soft rustle of fabric.
"I brought coffee."
Something in her chest cracked.
Don't be nice to me. Please don't be nice to me.
But niceness was his default, wasn't it? He didn't know how to stop caring, even when caring hurt. He showed up with coffee at 2 a.m. because she needed it, because taking care of her was instinct now, because some part of him would probably keep taking care of her long after she was gone.
"Thanks."
