5. Esmerelda #2
"The baby was crying through the door. I couldn't just stand there and?—"
"Our point exactly." Margot's voice is gentle as she picks up her embroidery again, her needle moving through the fabric in steady, calming motions.
"You see someone in need, and you move toward them instead of away.
It's what makes you good at what you do.
It's also what makes this situation complicated. "
I look at Margot, at the quiet strength in her expression, and I remember that she was the first of us to fall for an orc.
Roman found her when she was running from an abusive ex, half-starved and terrified, and he protected her before she even knew she needed protection.
She understands better than anyone what it means to be drawn to someone dangerous, to see past the violence to the man underneath.
"Roman was dangerous when I met him," she continues, as if reading my thoughts.
"They all are. Every orc in this club has done things that would terrify us if we thought about them too hard.
But danger isn't the same as harm. The question isn't whether Stellan could hurt you. The question is whether he would."
"He wouldn't," I say, and I believe it. "He'd hurt himself before he'd hurt me."
"That's not necessarily healthier," Kira points out.
"No. But it's a starting point."
Margot nods slowly. "If you see something in him, trust that. But go in with open eyes. The berserker is real. The danger is real. And loving someone with that kind of darkness inside them isn't easy, even when they love you back."
"I don't know if he loves me." The admission feels vulnerable, exposed. "I don't even know if he likes me. He barely talks, and when he does, it's like every word costs him something. But I can see how lonely he is. How long he's been alone."
"And you think you can reach him?" Eliza asks.
"I think I want to try."
The words settle into the quiet of the room, and I feel the weight of four gazes on me, assessing, supporting, worried in varying degrees.
These women have become my family over the past year, bound together by the impossible experience of loving orcs in a world that doesn't understand.
They've watched each other navigate violence and fear and the particular challenges of relationships with men who live outside normal society.
"Then try," Camille says finally, setting down her knife with a deliberate click against the cutting board. "But if he hurts you—if he so much as leaves a bruise or makes you flinch—I'm stabbing him. Fair warning."
"Noted."
"And if he breaks your heart, I'm making him eat a hundred cookies while I lecture him about emotional availability and the psychological importance of vulnerability in intimate relationships.
" Eliza waves a cookie threateningly in the air, leaving a trail of crumbs.
"I've perfected my disappointed mother voice over years of teaching. It's absolutely terrifying."
"Also noted."
"And if you need to talk," Margot adds softly, her voice warm with understanding, "about any of it—the fear, the confusion, the moments when you question everything—we're here. All of us. Day or night."
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, sudden and unexpected, the emotion rising in my chest like a wave. "I know. That's why I love you all."
"Gross," Camille says, but she's smiling, a real smile that softens the sharp edges of her face.
The moment breaks, and the conversation drifts to other things: the lockdown, the war, the particular challenges of being trapped in a clubhouse with their respective orcs for an indefinite period. But something has shifted in me, a resolution settling into place.
I'm not naive. I know the risks, the danger, the very real possibility that Stellan's walls are too high to climb.
But I also know what I've seen in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking, the hunger and the fear and the desperate, aching hope that he can't quite hide.
He wants to be reached. He just doesn't believe he deserves it.
Maybe I can show him he does.
In the corner of my vision, I catch June watching the doorway again, her book abandoned in her lap. Her expression is carefully neutral, but there's a tension in her shoulders that I've learned to recognize over months of working together. She's waiting for someone. Hoping someone will appear.
When Kieran passes by the common room on his way to the command center, June's whole body goes still. He doesn't stop, doesn't even glance in our direction, but I see his step falter almost imperceptibly, a hitch in his confident stride that lasts less than a second.
She watches him until he disappears from view, and then she picks up her book again, her face revealing nothing.
Interesting.
I file the observation away for later, adding it to the growing collection of moments I've noticed between June and the club's President. Seven years, she told me. Seven years of orbiting this world without entering it. Seven years of watching Kieran Cole from a distance.
Maybe I'm not the only one who's tired of distance.
Maybe the lockdown is changing more than just my relationship with Stellan.
I settle back into the couch, surrounded by the women who've become my family, and I think about tomorrow morning. Another cup of coffee. Another conversation. Another chance to reach the gentle giant who's been watching me like I'm the sunrise.
One step at a time. One crack in the walls at a time.
I'm going to find out what's underneath, if it's the last thing I do.