Page 63 of Orc'd At A Wedding
The elevator doors slide open.
I step inside.
The doors close.
I am alone.
CHAPTER 18
OLOG
Istand in the empty suite for exactly forty-seven seconds after Bliss walks out.
I count them.
Old habit. When a tactical situation deteriorates beyond recovery, you assess the damage, catalog your failures, and extract yourself from the field before you compound the error.
The silence presses against my eardrums like a physical weight.
I move to the window, my hands clasped behind my back, and I stare down at the resort's pristine grounds without actually seeing any of it. My reflection stares back at me from the glass, my face locked in the same neutral, professional mask I have worn for years.
It is the correct decision.
I repeat this to myself three times.
Bliss deserves stability. She deserves a partner who exists comfortably in her world, who can attend her social functions without causing security alerts, who does not carry throwing knives in formal settings.
She deserves someone who does not have a terminated gig-work account and a background check that reads like a military dossier.
She deserves better than a scarred Orc whose primary marketable skills involve intimidation and the strategic application of violence.
I am protecting her.
This is what protection looks like.
I exhale slowly through my nose and turn away from the window.
My suitcase is already packed. I am methodical about these things. I check the room one final time, scanning for forgotten items with the same thoroughness I would use to sweep a building for threats.
The bed is unmade.
I stop.
The sheets are still tangled from this morning, from the way Bliss wrapped herself around me in her sleep, her small body fitting against mine with a precision that felt biologically intentional.
I force myself to look away.
I leave the suite, pulling the door shut behind me with a solid, final click.
The driveback to the city takes four hours.
I do not turn on the radio.
I keep both hands on the wheel, my posture perfectly upright, my speed exactly three miles below the posted limit. The highway stretches out in front of me, flat and gray and relentlessly straight.
My phone sits in the cupholder, screen dark.
I do not check it.
