8. Traig
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRAIG
It was Thursday evening, and I was finally back at the fizzling enclosure. A structural failure in enclosure four had eaten most of my afternoon, right on the heels of the planning meeting, and I still felt scattered, like I'd been holding too many threads at once.
As I approached the enclosure, Nix looked up from where he was excavating a small hole in the ground outside the enclosure, his stripes glowing.
“Nix,” I said. “What are you doing out of your pen? You need to be with the other fizzlings.”
He chirped and kept digging, dirt flying up from beneath his front paws, hitting his belly.
I opened the gate and gestured inside. “Come on. Back inside.”
Nix kept digging.
“I’m going to document this,” I said.
He chirped again.
I picked him up, carried him inside, and set him down near the shelter where the other fizzlings had curled into a big ball and were dozing. Only one of them looked up. It studied Nix in my arms and went back to sleep.
“Stay here,” I said, gently placing him among them.
I left and closed the gate, confirming the latch had secured, and started looking for his escape route. I couldn’t find a hole in the mesh big enough for a fizzling to escape. There had to be something I’d missed.
I found it near the bottom left corner where one wall met another. He’d scored the mesh, working on a joining point, creating a small gap. The edges had been bent outward from his effort.
I pulled out my tablet and opened the behavioral documentation file, typing.
Nix has created an exit point through consistent manipulation of the front left fence corner. The gap is only as wide as half my hand, but it’s enough for him to slip through.
It didn’t take long to repair the mesh and the joining point.
Stepping back, I nodded. “Fixed, Nix. Try to escape now.”
Nix blinked at me from where he snuggled with the other fizzlings.
Turning away from them, I continued strolling past the enclosures.
“Willa will work close beside me three times a week,” I said softly, though there wasn’t anyone here but me.
“Willa smiled and my brain stopped providing useful information.”
This was ridiculous.
I should be documenting information about the fizzlings, not whispering about my emotional responses to an assignment that was professional and useful.
I continued toward the snugglethorn pen.
“Tomorrow,” I told the creature, who ignored me. “I’ll bring coffee again, with none of the sweet dust—sweetener. Should I bring cookies from town?”
This was a meeting. I didn’t need to bring beverages and snacks. Did I? The break room had tea available at all times.
A fizzling chirped to my left.
I turned.
Nix had escaped and was working on his hole again.
“How did you—” A glance at the enclosure showed it still secure. No new hole I could see from here. I strode over and inspected the joining place, which was still holding the walls securely together.
Nix paused in his digging and looked at me over his shoulder. His stripes brightened.
He launched himself at the fence and discharged a full shock through the mesh. It rippled through the fence and even the ground beneath my feet, making every hair on my body stand up.
I opened my tablet and typed, Nix must have another escape route. I. Will. Find it. I will secure it, and he will never escape again.
I saved it to the file and placed my tablet on a nearby bench, then inspected the full enclosure again, finding no escape route.
“Back inside,” I said with a tired sigh, picking Nix up and taking him to his friends. He blinked up at me before snuggling into their clutch. “How are you getting out?”
He wasn’t going to tell me, but that didn’t matter.
“I’m not giving up,” I told him, securing the gate again and walking the perimeter, looking for tiny openings.
Finding none.
“No more.” I shook my finger at Nix, who was pretending to sleep. I could see his eyes opened to slits. Watching. Waiting for me to leave before he slunk away from the others and slipped back outside again.
With his gaze on my spine, I strode toward the building, my tablet tucked beneath my arm. I’d ask Drogar to take a look. He was good at solving mysteries like this.
The break room was quiet when I pushed through the door. We worked most days of the week, but my friends were gone already.
Or so I thought.
Drogar stood beside the kettle, pouring water into two mugs. He didn’t look up.
“You’ve been at that enclosure for an hour,” he said.
I stopped inside the doorway. “Nix keeps escaping. I can’t find how.”
“That’s not why you’re out there near dark.”
The words landed soft but direct.
I walked to the table and sat.
Drogar set a mug in front of me and took the chair across with the second cup of tea. He wrapped both hands around the mug and studied my face.
“She computerized the supply intake log this morning,” I said. I hadn’t had much chance to speak with her, but I’d noticed.
“And?”
“I’ll use it.”
Drogar went very still. “You’ll what?”
“I reviewed the files. They were…” I searched for the word. “Efficient. The new arrangement works better. Everyone can access it now.”
“You love that ledger. Are you saying someone did something better than you?”
“I guess I am.”
He shook his head, clearly amazed.
“I spent too much time staring at it, waiting for it to feel wrong.” The admission felt like stepping off a ledge. “I felt anxious, as if something had been taken from me.” I picked up my mug but didn’t drink. “I also felt relieved. Which makes no sense. I built that ledger. It was mine.”
Drogar’s expression softened. “Maybe that’s the problem. Everything here is yours. Yours to build, maintain, and control.”
He took a sip of his tea.
“Outside of Willa, when’s the last time you let someone change your system?” he asked.
“Never.” The word came out too fast. “Not since—”
I stopped.
Drogar waited.
The steam from my mug rose between us, disappearing into nothing.
“My parents controlled everything,” I said. “I’ve done the same thing, thinking if I kept things perfect and was useful enough, they’d…” My chest constricted. “It never made a difference.”
Drogar set his mug down on the table. “Willa’s not them.”
“You’re right.”
“She’s not leaving because you filed something wrong.” He leaned forward. “You know what I notice? She brings you things. Tea in the morning when you forget. She asks how Nix is doing because she knows you’re worried. That’s not someone who counts what she gets back.”
Each thing he said hit right. The tea. The questions about Nix. The way she remembered. Things I hadn’t let myself notice she was doing.
“Tomorrow, we meet again,” I said.
Drogar’s mouth pulled to one side in something that wasn’t quite a smile but held understanding. “Three times a week. For months. Such suffering.”
Despite everything, my chest loosened.
“I heard you bought twenty-four cookies for the first meeting,” he said.
Brovish had seen. Brovish must’ve shared. Gossiped.
“I didn’t know which kind she liked,” I said, biting back my irritation.
“So you bought all of them.” Drogar nodded slowly.
“That’s logical. Very normal orc behavior.
” He leaned back in his chair. “Brovish buys Laina flowers. One bunch. You bought twenty-four cookies because you didn’t know which ones she liked.
” He shook his head. “You feel more for her than a male should unless he has intentions.”
I scraped my tusks across my lip. “I was being thorough.”
“You were being cute.” He stood, still grinning. “That’s a human word for—”
“I know what it means.”
“Wait until I tell the others.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Drogar picked up his mug and started for the door to the hallway. He paused beside my chair.
“You don’t have to earn her every day,” he said. “Some people stay because they want to be there. Not because you’re useful. Just because.”
The door swung shut behind him, then the front door as he walked toward his cabin.
I sat in the break room after he left, holding my mug.
The second chair at my table was still empty. I could still only picture one person sitting there.
Her. With a plate of cookies between us, and her hair I’d tucked behind her left ear and a smile that made my organizational systems feel unimportant.
I finished my tea, washed my mug, and put it away.
After making a final round through the building to ensure everything was settled for the night, I decided to check on Nix one more time. I found him asleep in the center of the fizzling clutch, his stripes dim and peaceful.
Back inside, I sat at Willa’s desk in the entryway, my tablet dark on the surface in front of me.
I kept thinking about her smile when she’d seen the cookies. The way her wrist had felt under mine when Nix shocked us both. How she’d said, no shame about the cookies.
The building was empty. Everyone had gone home hours ago.
I spoke to the silence.
“She remembers what I say.” My voice sounded too loud in the empty entryway. “Even small things.”
I stopped and listened to the quiet, letting it flow over me rather than trying to push it away.
“She hasn’t run yet.”
The words settled into the space around me. The truth, spoken to an empty room, because I needed to hear myself say it.
I sat with the feeling.
Headlights swept across the windows. A vehicle parked, and the engine went quiet.
Willa stepped through the front door and stopped when she saw me sitting at her desk.
“I forgot my purse,” she said. “I could’ve left it, but I need to get some groceries.”
“I was checking on Nix.”
She smiled. “Did he escape again?”
I lifted one shoulder. “He’s in the enclosure for now.”
“That’s good.”
She rounded the counter and opened the desk drawer, removing her purse, tucking it beneath her arm and straightening. “Did you find his escape route?”
“Yes and no. He keeps outsmarting me.”
“That must be driving you crazy.”
“Yes.” I paused. “No. I don’t know.”
She was looking at me differently now.
I was looking back.
Neither of us was pretending this was about Nix anymore.
“I need to go home,” she said, but she didn’t move.
“Yes.” I didn’t want her to.
She tightened her fingers around her keys and took a step toward the door but turned back, holding my gaze. I didn’t look away. She stood three feet away. It felt like less.
She eliminated the space between us, not stopping until she was close enough that I could see the exact pattern of her curls where they framed her face.
Her hands landed on my shoulders.
And she kissed me.
For one full breath, I couldn’t move or process anything beyond the softness of her mouth and the fact that she’d chosen this.
My hands found her waist, holding.
Willa Enford had walked into the building, crossed the entryway, and kissed me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She made a small sound, and I forgot about where we were. I could only focus on this kiss.
When she lifted her head, I couldn’t make myself let go. My hands stayed on her hips, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing through her shirt.
She studied my face.
I didn’t know what expression I was making or what to do with any of this.
“Goodnight, Traig,” she said, her voice rough.
She stepped back. My hands fell away but stayed shaped like they were still holding her.
She left. The door clicked shut behind her, and her Jeep started. Her headlights swept across the windows again as she turned around and drove away.
I didn’t move. My hands were still shaped like they were holding her. The taste of her remained on my mouth. Something sweet.
Something I craved more than anything.
I looked down at my hands, opening and closing my fingers.
This was not how I handled things. I documented creature behavior, intake protocols, and supply inventories. I didn’t document the shape of someone’s mouth or the way her hands had felt on my shoulders or the sound she’d made right before she pulled away.
I dragged my tablet closer but only stared at it before tucking it into my back pocket.
Rising, I walked out to the fizzling enclosure, though I didn’t check for escape routes. I stood at the gate, watching the fizzlings sleep.
Nix slanted one eye open, his stripes glowing in the darkness.
I’d spent years building structures to keep everything in their place. The creatures. The supplies. Myself.
Willa had walked in and reorganized a drawer.
Then she’d reorganized everything else.
Willa had held my shoulders gently. She’d kissed me because she’d wanted to. Then left, giving me time to think about what happened.
It was only when I touched my mouth that I realized I was smiling. I couldn’t stop and I didn’t want to.
Nix escaped his pen because he could.
Because he wanted to.
The fence was never going to hold him. Some things aren’t meant to be contained.
“Not me either,” I said to the dark.