Page 30 of Orc’s Gallows

“You betrayed everything⁠—”

I hit him again. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to ensure he won’t be giving any more speeches for a while. His head snaps back, and consciousness leaves his eyes.

I let him drop.

Halvard emerges from the shadows at the alley’s mouth, two guards flanking him. They’ve been watching the interrogation without comment—standard procedure for these operations. The captain’s face is carefully neutral, but I catch the flicker of unease he can’t quite hide.

“Take him to the holding cells.” I step over Crenshaw’s unconscious form. “Make sure the others see him brought in. I want the message clear.”

“Sir.” Halvard hesitates. “The council has requested⁠—”

“I know what the council requested.” I wipe blood from my knuckles. “They can wait. I have three more organizers to visit tonight.”

The guard detail moves to collect the body. I stride past them into the darkened streets, my pulse still elevated from the violence, my mind already cataloging the next target.

The third night of riots has been the worst.

I stand on the Execution Hall’s roof, watching fires burn in three districts. The Bell Towers have gone silent—not from damage, but from the bell-keepers fleeing their posts. Without the enchanted tolls to mark time and suppress magical activity, the city’s rhythm has fractured. Citizens who’ve never missed an execution now hide in their homes. Merchants who built their fortunes on scaffold-adjacent real estate are fleeing to Saltgrave and other port towns.

She’s in the Warden’s quarters below, resting after our excursion to the Gallows Quarter. Not any woman. Your mate. Safe. Protected. Alive.

That should be enough. It isn’t.

The door to the roof access opens. I know who it is without turning.

“You should be resting.” I don’t turn around. Can’t. If I look at her, I’ll want to touch her, and if I touch her, I won’t want to stop.

“I slept.” Her words carry exhaustion that contradicts the claim. “For a few hours, at least. The dreams make it difficult.”

The dreams. I know about those—woke her from one hours ago, found her gasping in darkness while a shadow with white eyes dissolved into the corner of the room. She hasn’t told me what the Judge showed her. I haven’t asked. Some battles have to be fought alone.

“The city is burning.” She moves to stand beside me at the parapet, close enough that I sense the warmth radiating from her body. “Your doing?”

“Some of it.” I keep my gaze on the distant flames. “The rest is opportunists taking advantage of the chaos. Looters. Old grudges being settled under cover of riot.”

“And the organizers?”

“Being dealt with.”

A long pause. Her attention weighs on the side of my face, her assessment pressing against my awareness.

“Dealt with how?”

The question carries an edge I don’t want to examine. I know what she’s actually asking. Know that she’s watching me with those purple-flecked eyes, cataloging my methods, measuring me against some standard I can’t see.

“The way I’ve always dealt with threats to order.” I finally turn to face her. “Fear. Pain. Public examples that remind citizens why defiance is a bad idea.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker in her gaze. Disappointment, maybe. Or confirmation of what she already suspected.

“And now?” She steps closer, close enough that I smell the herbs she used to wash her hair, the faint trace of ending magic that clings to her skin. “Now that you’ve claimed me, defied the council, torn your identity apart—you’re still the same man? Still the monster who maintains order through fear?”

I want to say yes. Want to hold onto that certainty, that identity, the foundation I’ve built my existence upon. But the claiming sigil warms between us, and I remember the feel of her in my arms. The way she looked at me on the platform, waiting for death with defiance in her eyes. The choice I made without hesitation.

“I know exactly what I’ve been.” The admission tears out of me, raw and deliberate. “But when I do it now—when I use those techniques—I see you watching. I sense you judging. And the satisfaction I used to feel…”

I trail off. Can’t find words for what’s changed.

“It’s gone?” Her words are soft. Almost gentle.