Page 16 of The Orc's Protection
She pauses at the door. “Would you walk with me? I’ve been meaning to ask about the window.”
“Of course.”
In the corridor she stays close, close enough that our arms occasionally brush. I don’t remark on it. “You’re not being paranoid,” I say before she can ask.
She glances up. “I didn’t say anything yet.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She exhales. “Everyone else acts like I should just move on. Nothing was taken, so nothing happened.”
“Something happened,” I say. “Your instincts know that.”
We reach her classroom, currently unoccupied as her students remain in the cafeteria with monitoring staff. She unlocks thedoor, then gestures for me to enter first, a security precaution that impresses me. Inside, she moves directly to the window in question, indicating the replaced locking mechanism. “They installed this after the break-in, but it doesn’t seem any more substantial than the original.”
“I filed this my first day on the job. I’ll refile… and follow up in person this time.”
“Thank you,” she says. The relief in her voice is answer enough.
When she turns back, something in her expression has shifted—quieter, more open than her classroom face. “Protection is sacred,” she says quietly, echoing my clan teaching with perfect intonation.
Something deep inside me answers, older than every careful restraint I’ve built since the Emergence. She doesn’t know what those words mean in my language. Doesn’t know that my clan’s first teaching isn’t a professional motto but a vow—one spoken at bondings, at births, at burials. The most sacred promise a StoneWatch warrior can make. She said it like she meant it. As though she already understands.
I look at her—really look, for perhaps the first time without the filter of protocol—and feel the ground shift beneath what I have been calling professionalism for weeks. It is not professionalism. It has not been that for some time.
Before I can respond, her students return from lunch, loud and energized. The moment fades, but its effect lingers. I resume my position near the door as the children settle into their activities.Ms. Walker transitions smoothly into teaching mode, though I notice her glancing my way occasionally in a way that seems different from before.
I consider explaining what the poncho means in my culture. I do not.
When I leave for my scheduled perimeter check, her words continue to echo in my mind. Something has changed. I do not yet understand its shape, but I feel its weight. As I resume my patrol, my attention keeps drifting back to one particular classroom door.
Chapter Seven
Vraag
Friday morning brings an unexpected cold front. I notice it immediately as I step from my apartment: the sharp bite in the air, the crystalline quality of sunlight that suggests temperatures well below seasonal norms. The weather app on my phone confirms that it’s twenty degrees colder than yesterday.
My uniform includes a heavy winter coat for such conditions—standard issue tactical gear, reinforced at stress points and treated with the same clan oils I habitually apply to all my protective garments. It’s excessive for a brief walk from car to building, but protocols suggest preparedness for extended outdoor duty in all conditions.
Arriving at Sunshine Valley Elementary forty-five minutes early as usual, I conduct my perimeter check with methodicalattention. The early frost makes the grass crunch underfoot as I inspect gates, windows, and access points. All secure. The reinforcement I installed on Ms. Walker’s classroom window mid-week holds, the new mechanism solid where the old one flexed. I check it twice.
“Vraaaaag! By the ancestors, do you ever sleep?”
Grulk’s booming voice carries across the empty parking lot as he approaches, a steaming travel mug clutched in his massive hand. Unlike me, he’s added several non-regulation items to his maintenance uniform—a knitted scarf in clashing colors and what appears to be a homemade hat with earflaps.
“Some of us take our positions seriously,” I respond, continuing my inspection.
“Always the dedicated warrior,” he chuckles, falling into step beside me. His breath forms small clouds in the cold air. “Though I notice your patrols always end near the kindergarten wing.”
I ignore this comment, focusing on checking the perimeter fence tension.
“HammerFall gathering tomorrow night,” he continues, undeterred by my silence. “Feast of First Frost. Good food, better company.” His elbow nudges my ribs with surprising force. “You should bring your intended.”
The term stops me cold. I turn to face him directly.
“Mywhat?”
Grulk grins, tusks gleaming in the early morning light. “The little teacher. The one who wore your protective gear. Don’t play ignorant, StoneWatch.”
