Chapter 3 #3
I glanced at Ruka and Jordan, the easy intimacy between them, the way her hand rested on his thigh like it belonged there. The way he looked at her like she was the center of his universe.
Something twisted in my chest—not quite jealousy, but close. Wistfulness, maybe. Longing for something I didn't have time to want.
I'd spent the last five years building my career, fighting for Orc rights, making a name for myself as a lawyer. I'd been so focused on the work that I'd never stopped to think about what I might be missing.
But seeing my friends like this—seeing the way they loved each other, the way they'd risk everything to protect each other—it made me wonder what it would be like to have that.
To have someone look at me the way Argon looked at Tori.
To have someone willing to break the law, to move heaven and earth, just to keep me safe.
I pushed the thought away. I didn't have time for this. Kael was in jail, Argon was in danger, and I had a case to build.
"Okay," I said, closing my legal pad. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to file a motion to dismiss based on lack of evidence. Dawson doesn't have anything concrete tying anyone to Stephen's death—no DNA, no witnesses, no murder weapon. Just a theory and prejudice."
"Will it work?" Argon asked.
"Maybe," I admitted. "It all depends on what the medical examiner's report says.
If it says Stephen's injuries are consistent with a fall, we're home free.
If not, we're going to have to show what an asshole Stephen was—prove he was the kind of guy who would have beaten and killed Tori.
I'm going to call Agent Morrison for help digging into Stephen's background.
If he really did kill the Watkins brothers, there might be evidence.
Something that proves he was violent, that he was capable of murder. "
"And if you can't find anything?" Ruka asked.
"Then we go to trial," I said, trying to keep my voice steady even as my stomach churned at the thought. "And we tell the truth. All of it. We put Tori on the stand, show the jury those photos, and make them understand that Argon saved her life."
And pray they can look past the cover-up. Pray they believe the necessity defense. Pray we don't all end up in prison.
I picked up my briefcase, slinging it over my shoulder. "I need to go. I have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it."
"Sarah," Argon said, standing up. "Thank you. For everything."
I managed a smile. "That's what friends are for."
But as I walked out of the clinic, into the burgeoning evening din, I couldn't shake the image of Kael sitting in that cell. Couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd broken those cuffs to protect me, the way his body had moved between me and Dawson without hesitation.
Couldn't stop wondering what it meant that my heart had stuttered when he'd done it.
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. I didn't have time for this. Didn't have time to analyze my feelings or wonder about what-ifs.
I had a case to win.
And I wasn't going to let Kael—or Argon, or any of them—go down for doing the right thing.
Even if it killed me.
I made it halfway to my car before Tori caught up with me.
"Sarah, wait." She jogged across the gravel lot, her braids swinging. "You're not leaving without eating, are you?"
I glanced at my watch. Six-thirty. My stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, reminding me that the last thing I'd eaten was a stale granola bar around noon. "I really should get back—"
"Absolutely not." Tori linked her arm through mine with surprising strength for someone who'd been through what she had. "Zuhra's making stew, and there's fresh bread. You've been working all afternoon. The least we can do is feed you."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the smell of cooking meat and herbs wafting from one of the nearby homes made my resolve crumble. "Just a quick bite."
"Perfect."
Quick turned into three hours.
Zuhra's stew was incredible—rich and savory, with chunks of venison and root vegetables I couldn't identify but tasted like heaven. The bread was still warm, crusty on the outside and soft within. I ate two bowls and lost count of how many pieces of bread I consumed.
The conversation flowed easily through the common house.
Elder Sarsa told stories about growing up underground, about Ruka, Argon, and Kael's mischievous childhoods.
Jordan shared tales from her medical research, the challenges of practicing Orc medicine in a world that barely acknowledged their existence.
Tori and Argon told about Argon's attempts at wine-making, which had everyone laughing.
For a little while, I forgot about the case. Forgot about Dawson and the broken cuffs and the impossible situation we were all in.
But eventually, reality crept back in. I checked my phone and saw it was past nine. "I really do need to go now. I still have work to do tonight."
They all walked me to my car, Tori pressing a container of leftover stew into my hands despite my protests. "Drive safe," she said, squeezing my arm. "And Sarah? Thank you. For believing us."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and climbed into the driver's seat.
As I pulled away from the village, watching the warm lights fade in my rearview mirror, I felt the weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders. These people were counting on me. Kael was counting on me.
I couldn't let them down.
The drive back from the Orc village took me through winding mountain roads that were pitch black save for my headlights cutting through the darkness.
It was past nine o'clock, and exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead.
I'd been running on adrenaline and coffee since yesterday's wedding-turned-Law and Order episode, and my body was starting to protest.
I rolled down the window, letting the cool night air slap me awake. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the car, sharp and clean. My mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow—motions to file, evidence to review. I needed to get home, take a shower, try to sleep.
But underneath the exhaustion, anxiety gnawed at me.
The motion to dismiss was our best shot, but it was far from guaranteed.
If the medical examiner's report showed anything suspicious—if the broken nose raised questions, if the angle of the fall didn't match the injuries—we'd be facing trial.
And at trial, we'd have to convince a jury that moving a body and staging a scene was somehow justified.
That the Orc's fear of Dawson was legitimate enough to excuse obstruction of justice.
It was possible. But it was a long shot.
And if we lost, Kael and probably Argon would go to prison.
Years in prison. Away from their home. Away from Tori. Away from Viola.
I couldn't let that happen.
My phone rang through the car's Bluetooth, Marcus's name flashing on the dashboard screen.
I hit the answer button. "Hey, cuz. What's up?"
"Sarah." His voice was tight, strained in a way that made my stomach clench. Marcus was a deputy at the Franklin sheriff's station—had been for three years now. He was one of the good ones, which made working in Dawson's department a special kind of hell for him. "Are you alone?"
"Yeah, I'm driving home from the Orc village. Why? What's wrong?"
There was a pause, long enough that I heard him breathing, could practically feel him weighing his words. "I need to tell you something. And you can't—you can't tell anyone where you heard it. Okay?"
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Marcus, you're worrying me. What happened?"
"I overheard something tonight. At the station." His voice dropped lower, like he was afraid someone might be listening. "A couple of the deputies were talking in the break room. They didn't know I was in the supply closet next door."
"What did they say?" I asked, my pulse starting to quicken.
"They were talking about the Orc." Marcus took a shaky breath. "Sarah, I think Dawson is planning something. Something bad."
The road ahead blurred for a second, and I had to blink hard to focus. "What do you mean, something bad?"
"They were talking about going to the hardware store. Said they needed to pick up chains and a shovel." His voice cracked slightly. "And then one of them said they were supposed to meet behind the jail before midnight. That Dawson wanted it done tonight while the night shift was light."
My foot eased off the gas pedal as my brain tried to process what he was saying. Chains. A shovel. Meeting behind the jail at midnight.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"Sarah, I think—" Marcus's voice was barely audible now. "I think Dawson is planning to kill him."
I swerved slightly, overcorrected, and had to pull onto the shoulder of the road. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely put the car in park.
"Are you sure?" I demanded, even though I already knew the answer. "Marcus, are you absolutely sure that's what they meant?"
"What else could it mean?" His voice was desperate now.
"Chains and a shovel? Meeting behind the jail in the middle of the night?
Sarah, Dawson hates Orcs. You know he does.
There's not one shred of evidence against Kael, and he knows it, but Dawson won't let it go.
If he thinks he can make it look like an escape attempt gone wrong—"
"Shit." I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, my mind racing. "Shit, shit, shit."
"What are you going to do?" Marcus asked.
"I don't know. I need to—" I sat up, my lawyer brain kicking into gear even as panic clawed at my chest. "I need to think. Did they say anything else? Any other details?"
"Just that it had to be done before the morning shift came in. That they couldn't risk anyone asking questions." Marcus paused. "Sarah, you need to call someone. The FBI, the state police, someone who can stop this."