2. Traig #2
I stood in the supply room, surrounded by organized shelves and labels no one had asked for, and realized I’d been holding my breath.
My cottage was still quiet when I returned.
My phone sat on the kitchen counter.
I swiped into it, seeing I’d missed a call.
I played the voicemail.
Hi, this is Erika Collins from the Bramble Creek Regional School District.
I’m the science coordinator for our elementary programs, and I wanted to reach out about a potential partnership.
We’re developing a cross-species integration unit.
Orc kingdom ecology, surface adaptation, that sort of thing.
I think the Creature Rescue League would be a perfect fit.
I’m thinking of facility visits, maybe some educational materials.
It’s a great community visibility opportunity, and honestly, the kids would be thrilled.
We’ve got some funding, and this would be the perfect place to use it.
Give me a call back when you can. Thanks so much.
I set the phone down.
This was good. Excellent, even.
Community outreach. Positive visibility. Potential donor interest. Structured, documented, and with clear parameters. And funding to cover the facility cost.
I was the logical choice to lead it. I could build a curriculum, coordinate with the school district, and manage the facility visits. I’d done similar presentations with families, and the principles were the same.
The phone screen dimmed.
Krem was better with children, though. He had an easy warmth that humans responded to. But Krem’s organizational skills were only adequate. He’d forget to document half the interactions, and we’d have no data to measure program success.
I could delegate the facility tours. Keep the curriculum development and school coordination myself. That would be efficient.
Except…
The school coordinator had specifically mentioned parent communication and community visibility. That wasn’t my strength. I could do it, but it required a kind of warmth that made me feel like I was wearing someone else’s skin.
Willa had answered the phone intake today like she’d been doing it for years.
I could bring her in as support staff for the community-facing elements, though only with minimal involvement. I’d maintain project control, and she could handle the human parts.
That was the perfect solution.
The decision had nothing to do with the fact that I’d now have a reason to meet with her regularly for the next several months.
I picked up the phone again and put it in my pocket. I’d discuss it with Brovish first. Make sure the project was appropriate before involving other staff.
I was not avoiding anything. I was following proper channels.
Another thing I could deal with tomorrow.
My bedtime routine had been regimented from the time I was little, and I followed it as always. Teeth and tusks brushed. Tablet charging. Clothes for tomorrow laid out on the chair. Lights off at the same time every night.
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come.
This was unusual. Inefficient even. I operated on a schedule, and my body adhered to it at all times.
Except tonight my brain refused to cooperate.
I kept thinking about tomorrow’s orientation session with Willa. I’d cover intake processing first. Then enclosure protocols. Safety procedures. Feeding schedules.
This was the most logical, efficient way to handle the day.
Although, she’d probably enjoy watching the fizzlings more than the intake forms. She’d been drawn to Nix despite the static shock, leaning forward with real interest even after her hair stood on end.
The driftwhisp enclosure would engage her as well. She’d learn better if she was excited.
Creatures first, then. That was the most practical way to handle this.
Fred the grumbletoad might appreciate visiting her at the front desk. They were social creatures. Fred had grumbled louder when she’d interacted with him.
I’d bring Fred to the reception area tomorrow. Let him settle in while I covered intake processing.
Wait.
Why was I planning the orientation schedule around her interests?
That wasn’t efficient. It was unnecessary accommodation.
And I was doing it again. Thinking about her when I didn’t need to. The time outside of work should be mine, not shared with a woman who…
I wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but I didn’t like it.
I rolled over and punched my pillow into a shape that made no sense but felt necessary.
Tomorrow I’d be professional. I’d cover everything as originally planned, in the order I’d outlined in the manual. I would not notice how she sat in her chair. I would not watch for her reactions. And I would not think about the way she said my name with a slight upward inflection at the end.
I closed my eyes.
My father’s voice echoed in my mind. Competence is expected, son. Excellence might be noticed.
I was an only orcling, which meant there had been no one else to deflect their attention, no one else to fail in my place. Every achievement had been weighed. Every misstep noted as if they were keeping a log.
Maybe they had.
The Creature Rescue League had offered me a way out, a place built on what I chose rather than what I owed.
My parents hadn’t fought my leaving. They’d stopped returning my messages within a month of my arrival here. Forgiveness had never been an option. I’d stopped expecting it by the time my adult tusks grew in.
The five of us had rescued each other as much as we rescued creatures.
This was the first place I’d ever felt like I could be myself.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling again.
The second chair at my kitchen table was still empty. I’d bought it when I moved in because tables came with two chairs and it seemed silly to refuse one. I’d never questioned it before.
Now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I threw off the blanket and got up, padding into the kitchen. The tablet sat on the counter where I’d left it, still plugged in, the screen dark. I picked it up and opened my task list.
The cursor blinked at the bottom of tomorrow’s entries.
My fingertip hovered over the screen.
I set the tablet down and went back to bed.
Sleep, when it finally came, felt thin and unsatisfying.
I dreamed of filing systems that messed themselves up when I wasn’t looking.