Chapter 7 #2
“It’s perfect,” I said, setting down my mug on his desk, placing the bag next to it. “Dartling muffins for you. Inla sent them.”
“She’s amazing.”
“She sure is.”
We shared a warm smile.
“Thanks for letting me sleep in,” I said.
“You needed it.” His gaze held mine for a moment before he sat and returned to his files. “I hope you feel rested.”
“I do.”
Sitting, I finished my muffin and coffee, watching him work. I could appreciate the methodical way he arranged each document. There was something mesmerizing about his efficiency, the way his large hands handled the delicate papers with surprising gentleness.
“There’s a system to everything,” Dungar said, tapping the green tab on the thick binder. “Tourist incidents are categorized by severity, location, and required resources.”
I stared at the meticulously organized pages, each scenario anticipated and addressed with flowcharts and bullet points. What had taken me days of scrambling during the Blainsworth investigation would’ve taken Dungar hours with this level of organization.
“This is impressive,” I said.
“Most people find it excessive.” His gaze didn’t quite meet mine. “Most people haven’t seen how the right system in the right moment can save lives.”
I touched his hand, pulling mine back quickly when my skin tingled. “In my old job, this kind of thoroughness would’ve been invaluable.”
His expression relaxed, and I’d bet anything he thought I’d judge him negatively about his organization. How could I when I could see how helpful it would be?
“I’ve prepared a daily schedule,” he said, sliding a laminated sheet toward me. “Color-coded by priority.”
The schedule was a marvel of organization. Red for urgent matters, orange for high priority, yellow for routine, green for administrative tasks, and blue for training. Each time slot had been carefully considered, with buffer periods built in for unexpected issues.
Looking around, I realized the entire office reflected this same attention to detail.
Labeled and color-coded folders lined the shelves, organized by incident type.
Equipment hung on pegboards with outlines drawn around each item.
Handbooks for every possible tourist scenario stood in perfect alignment on a shelf, their sides labeled in neat handwriting.
Maps of the town with grid coordinates for quick reference had been pinned to a bulletin board beside his desk.
Dungar followed my gaze, and I swore he girded himself before speaking. “Most people find my systems excessive.”
“Not me. This is brilliant.”
We shared another smile, and I liked that we could feel so easy together.
Dungar explained his morning routine that included checks of the perimeter fencing, security sweeps of the town, and coordination with his brothers for the day’s events.
What struck me was how his organization wasn’t quirky or obsessive but deeply practical.
Every system had a purpose, designed to protect the people who lived and visited here.
The door swung open, and a flustered woman wearing a pink polka dot floor-length dress and a poke bonnet stepped in. “Excuse me, Sheriff? We signed up for the two PM stagecoach robbery, but my son has a peanut allergy. Is there anything he needs to know?”
Dungar reached for a handbook from the neat pile on his desk. “Page twenty-three covers all food allergens associated with our experiences.” He turned to the correct page and tapped it. “The stagecoach robbery involves chocolate gold coins that contain traces of tree nuts but no peanuts.”
The woman’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
As the door closed behind her, Dungar’s eyes met mine. “Every detail matters when people put their trust in you.”
“I can see that.”
He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and rose from his desk. “It’s time for our afternoon patrol. It’s important we maintain a visible presence, especially during peak tourist hours.”
We stepped out onto the boardwalk, the wooden planks creaking beneath us. The afternoon sun warmed my face as we fell into step together, his long strides slowing to accommodate my shorter ones.
“My standard route takes us around the perimeter, then through the main square,” Dungar said, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly beside me. “We check in with each business, make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
Our arms brushed as a family squeezed past us on the boardwalk.
The brief contact sent warmth all the way down to my hand, and I forced myself to maintain a professional expression despite the way my heart was flipping around in my chest. I’d faced down corporate thugs and testified against crime lords.
I could handle walking next to an attractive orc without melting into a puddle.
“The town layout follows traditional frontier designs.” Dungar gestured toward the carefully arranged buildings.
“But we’ve incorporated orc architectural elements, including higher doorways.
Our king provided funding with the understanding we’d create a true cultural exchange, not just a simple tourist destination. ”
His pride in what they’d built came through in every word. It was clear love had gone into creating this place.
“Excuse me, Sheriff?” A middle-aged man in a plaid shirt waved us down. “Could you tell me when the next trail ride leaves? My kids are dying to see those, uh, sor-something animals.”
“Sorhoxes,” I said, then froze. I’d only been here a day, and I had no idea what the schedule was. “The afternoon rides are at…” I fumbled, trying to recall anything useful from the materials I’d studied in Dungar’s office.
Without missing a beat, Dungar reached into his pocket and produced a neatly folded schedule printed on cardstock, handing it toward the man. “Two o’clock, three-thirty, and five o’clock. Each ride lasts approximately forty-five minutes and accommodates all skill levels.”
“Thanks.” The man took the schedule and hurried off.
“Sorry. I should have studied the activities more before we—”
“You haven’t been here long,” Dungar said, his voice kind. “And you spent most of it locked in a jail cell.”
We shared a smile that felt like a secret between us.
A few minutes later, a woman with a camera approached me directly. “Excuse me, Deputy? I’m looking for the best spots to photograph the town. Something that really captures the western feel.”
This time, I knew the answer. “The ridge behind the Function Barn offers a panoramic view of the entire valley. If you want something more intimate, the water tower creates beautiful silhouettes against the sky. There are stairs inside, and you can exit onto a secure deck at the top.”
Her face brightened. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”
As she walked away, Dungar’s dark eyes settled on me with unmistakable approval. “Well done. The water tower is one of my favorite spots.”
“I noticed it when I first arrived. It struck me as the kind of place where you could see everything without being seen.”
Old habits. Always looking for vantage points, escape routes, places to hide.
Dungar nodded. “It’s peaceful up there. I go sometimes when I need to think.”
We continued our patrol, falling into an easy rhythm that surprised me. When tourists approached, we instinctively knew which of us should handle each question. Dungar’s knowledge of schedules and safety protocols complemented my ability to connect with people looking for authentic experiences.
It felt natural. Comfortable. Dangerous.
The more smoothly we worked together, the harder it became to remember why I couldn’t let myself grow attached. My training had taught me to blend in, to adapt quickly, but this was different. This wasn’t only adapting, it was belonging.
And belonging was the one luxury I couldn’t afford.
Our patrol route took us past a large paddock at the edge of town where a crowd had gathered around a fenced enclosure. Inside, one of Dungar’s brothers was demonstrating something to wide-eyed tourists.
“I’ll introduce you to Ruugar when he’s finished,” Dungar said.
“And this,” Ruugar said in a booming voice, carefully opening a small wooden crate. “Is a beloved creature from the orc kingdom.”
Children pressed against the fence as he reached inside and gently lifted out what looked like a cross between a rabbit and a lizard. The creature’s iridescent fur shimmered in the sunlight, and a row of delicate spines along its back winked with soft blue light.
“This is a luminook.” Ruugar cradled the creature tenderly. “They live deep within our caverns, their light guiding us through the darkest passages.”
The luminook made a trilling sound, almost like a purr, as it nuzzled Ruugar’s arm. The children gasped when the spines along its back glowed brighter in response to his attention.
“These are some of the first luminooks to come to the surface,” Dungar said from beside me. “Ruugar has been raising this twinkle since they arrived.”
“Twinkle?”
“Pack, I guess you’d call it. Chumbles have crumbles, and luminooks have twinkles.”
“That’s wonderful.” I couldn’t hold back my grin. “It’s possibly the most adorable name for a group of animals I’ve ever heard.”
Ruugar carefully placed the luminook in a small enclosure where three others of varying sizes huddled together. The largest, presumably the mother or father, had spines that glowed a soft lavender, while the smallest emitted barely there pulses of blue light.
“They communicate through their humming and the intensity of their glow,” Dungar said. “Each pattern means something different, from contentment to a warning, to a greeting.”
“Luminooks form lifelong bonds with their families,” Ruugar said. “They never leave a member behind, even if it means facing danger together.”
The adult luminook nudged the smallest one, and the tiny creature stood on its hind legs, its spines brightening before it ducked back behind the bigger one.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the creatures. Their gentle movements and the soft, melodic humming had a hypnotic quality I adored.
“They’re beautiful,” I breathed. “Like something from a fairy tale.”
Dungar’s expression softened as he watched me. “Our mothers told us they guide lost children home. Their light keeps darkness away.”
His words resonated deep inside me. I’d been lost for so long, stumbling through darkness, always looking over my shoulder. The thought of a gentle light guiding me to safety made my throat tighten with feelings I couldn’t describe.
“What happens if you get separated from your twinkle?” I asked.
“My family will find me. No matter how far I wander, their light will call me home.”
The intensity in his gaze made me look away first. There was too much promise there, too much certainty. I’d learned the hard way that promises were easily broken when the world turned cruel.
Ruugar cleared his throat. “And that’s it for my luminook presentation today. Remember, these creatures are nocturnal, so they’re only now waking up. Tonight’s guided twilight tour at eight will show them when they’re most active.”
As the crowd dispersed, I lingered at the fence, watching the adult luminook gather the babies close, their spines glowing as they communicated in their silent language.
A family. A twinkle that stayed together no matter what. Something I’d never have again. The thought wrenched through me, leaving me both sad and, strangely enough, with hope blooming deep inside me.
We continued our patrol as the afternoon crowds began to thin, some entering the restaurant, others the saloon.
Dungar pointed out the emergency exits in the buildings camouflaged to look like part of the Wild West scenery, and the modern fire suppression system cleverly hidden behind authentic-looking woodwork.
“Safety first,” he said. “The illusion is important, but not at the expense of—”
A woman’s panicked voice cut through the cheerful afternoon noise. “Marcy? Marcy!”
Dungar’s head snapped up, his body alert. He moved toward the sound, and I followed close behind.
A woman in her thirties, clutching a stuffed sorhox toy and a paper cone of popcorn, spun in circles near the luminook enclosure.
We stopped beside her.
“Have you seen my daughter?” she asked. “She’s six, wearing a pale blue grannie gown and a matching bonnet. Brown hair in a braid halfway down her back. About this high.” She made a chopping motion at belly height. “Blue eyes.”
“I’m Sheriff Bronish and this is Deputy Smith,” Dungar said. “When did you last see her?”
“She was watching the luminooks with the other children. She was right beside me. I only looked away for a second to pay for our snack.”
I peered around, but I didn’t see a child matching the description.
Where was Marcy?