3. Brovish
CHAPTER THREE
brOVISH
I’d checked on Cooper four times since dawn broke. Each time I told myself it would be the last. He didn’t need me peering beneath the towel covering his crate. The fabric blocked the light and reduced stimulation. He needed to rest.
But I was worried about him. He wasn’t eating or drinking much.
The clatterwing’s breathing stayed even, and his feathers chimed whenever he shifted.
Sofia sat on my shoulder, her round body pressed against my neck the same way she’d nestled into Laina last night. The emberkit kept peeping and swiveling her head toward the door, waiting for Laina to walk through.
“She’s not coming back yet,” I told her.
Sofia peeped again, louder this time.
“She said she’d check in. That doesn’t mean she’ll drive all the way out here. She may call.”
The emberkit shifted against my collarbone, her wings rustling, and warmth radiated from her small body.
I checked Cooper’s water bowl. Still full. His food, strips of raw meat I’d prepared before Laina arrived, sat untouched. That was normal for the first night after an injury. The sedation still lingered. I told myself he’d eat when he was ready.
I pulled my notebook from my back pocket and flipped to Cooper’s page. I’d started it last night after Laina left, writing down everything I remembered about the injury, the treatment plan she’d gone through, and how his breathing had evened out once the wing was stabilized.
I added a new dated entry. Morning check. No food yet. Water level barely diminished. Breathing steady. Resting position suggests minimal pain.
My handwriting looked messier than usual. I’d been tired when I wrote the first entry, but this one was worse. The letters wobbled.
I kept thinking about Laina’s hands.
Her fingers had worked through Cooper’s feathers, testing the wing’s structure. She’d known exactly what she was looking for, and when she’d found the fracture on the X-ray, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d moved straight to fixing it.
I’d worked with a lot of veterinarians, both here and back in the orc kingdom. All of them were competent. Some were excellent. But I’d rarely seen anyone work the way Laina had, like the creature in front of her was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Sofia left my shoulder and flew over to the counter near the door, landing lightly. She tucked her wings against her body and fixed her gaze on the hallway.
“She’s not here,” I said.
I’d checked as well.
The emberkit made a low trilling sound and didn’t move.
Leaning forward, I wrote again.
I’ve spent my life filling notebooks with the wonders of the Orc Kingdom, but those were just rehearsals. My ink finally has a purpose: to record every way Laina Mercer makes the world feel special again.
Should I cross them out? They felt like too much and not enough, all at the same time.
Unsettled, I closed my notebook and shoved it back in my pocket. “I’m going to work. Stay there if you want.”
Morning rounds started early.
It was the one part of the day when everyone came together, even the ones who weren’t scheduled for care shifts. We’d started the tradition when we first opened the operation, back when there were only three of us and twice as many creatures as we knew what to do with.
Now it was routine. Walk through the facility. Check on every penned creature, inside and out. Make sure nothing had changed overnight.
Traig was waiting in the lobby when I strode down the hall, his tablet in hand, his dark hair pulled back in its usual tie. He glanced up as I approached, his midnight-black eyes scanning my frame.
Sofia followed me, landing on the reception desk, her gaze fixed on the front door.
“You’re up early,” Traig said.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
His gaze flicked past me toward the medical bay. “The clatterwing?”
“Cooper,” I said. “And he’s fine. Stable.”
“Cooper.” Traig tapped something on his tablet. “You named him already?”
“I did.”
He studied me with narrowed eyes. “I already took a quick look around. You reorganized the medical bay.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Traig lifted one brow. “Everything’s alphabetized.”
I’d forgotten about that. “It’s more efficient that way.”
“You don’t alphabetize.” He set the tablet down on the counter, his full attention on me now. “You group by frequency of use, and it drives me out of my mind. What happened last night?”
“I told you. The clatterwing—”
“Cooper,” he said. “You told me about the bird. I’m asking about the alphabetizing.”
“It made sense at the time.”
“Why?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Or I did, but it wasn’t one I wanted to say out loud.
Laina had been looking for a particular size syringe to give the bird sedation, and I’d pulled three wrong ones before finding the right one.
Afterward, I’d thought it would be easier if they were organized in a way that made sense to someone who wasn’t me.
Traig was still watching me with that look he got when he was waiting for a person to admit something they didn’t want to name.
“The veterinarian who came last night,” I said. “She’s very organized.”
His expression didn’t change. “And?”
“And nothing. She does good work. Cooper’s wing is stabilized.”
The door at the far end of the hall banged open, and Drogar strode in, rain dripping from his hair and his coat soaked through. He was broader than me, louder than all of us, and he moved through the world like everything in it might be interesting if he looked at it the right way.
He spotted Sofia perched on the reception desk and his grin widened. “Brovish. Why does the emberkit guard the door like she waits for a mate?”
“She’s not guarding anything,” I said.
“She sits. She watches. She does not move.” He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a chair. “This is guarding behavior. Did someone new arrive last night? Please say it was a mate for Gerald. He grows lonesome.”
“Gerald is not lonesome,” Traig said from beside me. “He’s territorial. There’s a big difference between lonely and territorial.”
Traig was the most surface-fluent of all of us. He’d learned human systems, their paperwork, and the way they organized everything into categories and subcategories. He kept the league running because he understood how humans thought.
“He can be both things,” Drogar said with a shrug. “I’m both things.”
“You’re neither,” Traig said. “You just don’t understand boundaries.”
“Boundaries are suggestions,” Drogar said with a lopsided grin.
Krem appeared in the doorway behind Drogar, juggling the clipboard he insisted on using instead of a tablet, two mugs of something that smelled like sprymint tea, and a bag of mail.
He was the smallest of us, not quite seven feet tall, and the one humans found easiest to talk to because he smiled a lot and asked questions about everything.
“Morning,” Krem said, setting the mugs down on the counter.
“Brovish, three adoption applications came in during the night hours. All for mossnibbles. I believe Drogar’s media-of-the-social video is working as intended.
Also, someone called about the bloomback we have listed, but they wanted to know if it would survive in an apartment, which I said is unlikely, but that I’d confirm this with you.
” He paused, glancing toward the counter.
“Why is Sofia behaving strangely? She’s guarding the door. ”
“See?” Drogar said, shooting Traig a smug look. “Guarding.”
“She doesn’t guard.” Krem looked at Traig. “She never has.”
Greth stepped into view. He was the tallest of us all, broad shouldered and careful in his movements. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, people listened. He leaned against the doorframe and studied us with dark, steady eyes.
“Morning,” I said.
He nodded.
“So,” Drogar said, leaning forward to stroke Sofia, who preened. “What happened in the night hours?”
“I found a clatterwing near the eastern fence. It couldn’t fly. I called a veterinarian.”
“The usual one?” Traig asked.
“No. He’s traveling. I called someone else.”
“And this someone—were they pleasing to look at?” Drogar asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re acting…evasor. I think that’s the word.”
“Evasive,” Traig said.
I didn’t say a thing.
Drogar’s grin widened. “Look at Brovish’s face. They were pleasing.”
“I didn’t notice,” I said.
“You’re very bad at lying,” Drogar said. “Do they have a mate?”
“I didn’t ask her that.”
“Her,” Drogar breathed, his eyes sparkling. “Did you offer her the correct greeting? You have her phone digits because you called her. Will you call her again?”
“This was professional contact.”
“Professional,” Traig repeated, his tone giving nothing away.
“She came for an emergency. She did her job. That’s all.”
“So that’s why you alphabetized everything,” Traig said.
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s more efficient.”
“You group by frequency of use.” He frowned my way. “This is your system. You’ve explained it to me at least four times. What was different about last night?”
“The veterinarian was very organized,” I said.
Greth pushed off the doorframe and walked closer. “She came in the night. In the rain. For a creature she’d never seen before.”
I nodded.
“And she stayed until the work was finished.”
“Yes.”
His gaze took in the emberkit still staring at the front door. “Sofia went to her.”
“She did,” I reluctantly admitted.
He grunted. “She’ll return.”
Greth didn’t say things he didn’t mean. If he thought Laina would come back, he had a reason.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Definitely,” Drogar said. “If Sofia’s waiting for her, she’s coming. Sofia knows things we don’t.”
“Sofia’s an emberkit,” Traig said. “She doesn’t see the future.”
“She senses things. Emotional energy. It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.” Krem was frowning now, his gaze flicking between me and Sofia. “I’m surprised. Sofia never goes to anyone new.”
“She tolerates us,” Drogar said. “But she doesn’t prefer us.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“It is.” Drogar leaned against the counter. “Sofia has high standards for who she likes. And if she went to this veterinarian—”
“Laina,” I said.
Silence echoed in the room.