Calla
The bakery's back room smells like cinnamon and desperation. Maddie and I have covered every inch of the wooden table with invoices, order sheets, and hastily scribbled calculations that refuse to add up no matter how many times we rework them.
"If I cut the honey cakes entirely and focus on basic breads..." Maddie traces her finger down a column of numbers, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"You can't cut the honey cakes. They're tradition." I lean back in my chair, studying the mess of papers. "What if we source alternative ingredients? Something cheaper but still—"
The bakery door crashes open with enough force to rattle the hanging copper pots. Heavy boots stomp across the front room, and I recognize Thornak's distinctive gait even before his voice carries through the doorway.
"Maddie!"
"Back here!" Maddie calls, already pushing back from the table.
Thornak fills the doorframe like a storm cloud, his weathered face dark with fury. Dirt streaks his work clothes, and his hands clench into fists at his sides.
Maddie crosses to him without hesitation, her flour-dusted fingers reaching for his face. "What happened?"
"That bastard Pike nearly killed someone today." Thornak's voice rumbles with barely controlled rage. "Sold waterlogged timber from my land to young Timmy. Wagon collapsed in the festival square."
"Oh no." Maddie's hands frame his face, thumbs smoothing the tension lines around his eyes. "Is Timmy hurt?"
"No, but only by luck." Thornak's shoulders remain rigid despite her touch. "And that orc friend of yours made it worse. Promised to keep things quiet, then let half the town watch me tear into Garron like some kind of animal."
My stomach drops. "Brakkor was there?"
"Tried to hold me back, but the damage was done." Thornak's jaw works silently. "Made me look like a fool in front of everyone."
Maddie rises onto her toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. The simple gesture seems to drain some of the fury from his frame, his hands coming up to rest on her waist.
"You're not a fool," she murmurs against his mouth. "You're protecting people. There's a difference."
"Doesn't feel like it right now."
I watch their quiet intimacy with a mixture of warmth and worry. The way Maddie can calm Thornak with nothing more than her presence reminds me of something I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"Tell me exactly what happened," I say, pulling out a chair for Thornak.
He settles heavily into the seat, accepting the cup of cider Maddie presses into his hands. "Found timber from my land used in Timmy's wagon. Stolen, left to rot in the weather, then sold as quality materials. When I confronted Garron about it..."
"You lost your temper," Maddie finishes gently.
"I lost my temper," he admits. "And Brakkor tried to stop me, but I was too angry to listen. Now the whole town thinks I'm some kind of brute who can't control himself."
The weight in my chest grows heavier. I can picture the scene perfectly—Brakkor trying to manage an explosive situation while maintaining the investigation's integrity, Thornak's justified fury boiling over into public spectacle, and Garron caught in the middle of forces he doesn't understand.
"Where's Brakkor now?" I ask.
Thornak shrugs. "Walked away after I made an ass of myself. Probably regretting he ever got mixed up in our problems."
The familiar urge to fix everything rises in my throat, but this isn't something I can control from my office with careful words and strategic planning. This is personal, messy, and happening to someone who matters more to me than I'm comfortable admitting.
I push back from the table, abandoning our careful calculations. "I need to go."
"Cal, where are you—"
"The inn." I'm already reaching for my cloak. "I need to talk to him."
Maddie catches my arm as I pass. "Are you sure that's wise? Maybe give him time to cool off first."
"Time won't fix this." I squeeze her hand briefly. "And I can't leave things like this between us."
The walk to the Copper Kettle Inn feels both endless and far too short. Evening shadows stretch across the cobblestones, and the warm glow from windows does nothing to ease the anxiety tightening my chest.
The inn's common room buzzes with quiet conversation and the clink of pewter mugs. I spot Grenda Ironforge behind the bar, her grey-streaked beard braided with small copper bells that chime softly as she moves.
"Grenda." I approach the bar with more confidence than I feel. "I need to speak with one of your guests. Brakkor Vane."
Her weathered face creases into a knowing smile. "Ah, the orc journalist. Caused quite a stir in the square today, I hear."
"Which room?"
"Third floor, end of the hall. Room twelve." She leans across the bar conspiratorially. "Fair warning though—he came through here looking like a thundercloud about an hour ago. Might want to knock gently."
I climb the narrow wooden stairs, each step echoing in the quiet hallway. By the time I reach the third floor, my heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Room twelve sits at the far end of the corridor, lamplight flickering beneath the door. I raise my hand to knock, then hesitate.
What exactly am I planning to say? That I'm sorry Thornak lost his temper? That I understand why Brakkor walked away? That I can't bear the thought of him retreating back into the careful distance he's maintained since we slept together?
I knock before I can lose my nerve entirely.
The door opens before my second knock lands, and Brakkor fills the frame like a wall of barely contained tension. His dark hair falls across his eyes, but I catch the hollow look beneath—the expression of a man watching his worst fears unfold in real time.
"Calla." His voice carries no surprise, only resignation. "I figured you'd come."
"Then you know why I'm here."
He steps aside without invitation, letting me into the small room. The space feels cramped with both our presences, made smaller by the weight of everything unsaid between us.
"Thornak told me what happened." I close the door behind me, studying his profile as he moves to the window. "About the wagon, about Garron."
"Did he tell you how I handled it?" Brakkor's laugh holds no humor. "Because 'handled' might be generous."
"He said you tried to stop him from making a scene."
"I tried." His hands clench at his sides. "And failed. Just like before."
I see it now—the careful distance he's maintained, the way he pulls back whenever things get too personal, too close to mattering. He's not protecting himself. He's protecting everyone else.
"This is exactly how it starts." His voice grows quieter, more dangerous. "Good intentions, righteous anger, people getting hurt because I couldn't control the situation."
"So what's your solution? Walk away?"
He turns from the window, and the fear in his eyes stops my breath. "It's the only solution that works."
"For who?" The question comes out sharper than I intended. "Because it certainly doesn't work for me. Or for this town. Or for the people depending on us to finish what we started."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." I step closer, forcing him to meet my gaze. "You think distance protects people, but you're wrong. Leaving now would cause just as much damage as staying."
His jaw tightens. "At least if I leave, no one else gets hurt."
"Someone already got hurt today. Timmy could have been seriously injured because we haven't stopped this yet." My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. "And you want to abandon the investigation because Thornak lost his temper?"
"It's not about Thornak."
"Then what is it about?"
The silence stretches between us like a chasm. Brakkor's hands work at his sides, and I watch him wage some internal war I'm not privy to.
"It's about you." The admission comes out raw, unguarded. "It's about what happens when I care too much to think clearly."
The words hit deeper than any argument. I see the real fear now—not of failure, but of caring enough to make the wrong choices. Of letting emotion cloud judgment until someone pays the price.
"You don't get to decide that for me." My voice steadies, finding the authority I use in the newsroom. "This is my town, my choice. And I am choosing to face this with you."
"Calla—"
"No." I close the remaining distance between us, refusing to let him retreat. "You don't get to decide I'm too fragile or too important to risk. That's not your choice to make."
His eyes search my face, looking for cracks in my resolve. "What if I'm wrong again? What if I push too hard and someone gets hurt because I couldn't let go?"
"Then we deal with the consequences together." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "But we don't abandon the town to save it."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple." I reach up, my fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw. "You stay. We finish this. We trust each other to make the right choices."
His hand covers mine, pressing my palm against his cheek. "I don't know how to do this without keeping you at arm's length."
"Then learn."