Chapter 20 #2
She pauses. “I’d also ask this committee to consider one other thing.
Mr. Andrews’ defense—that an orc had ‘overreacted,’ that he was ‘just a lost parent’—relied entirely on the assumption that an orc’s judgment wouldn’t be believed over a human’s.
That assumption is worth examining. Because if our protocols make that a reasonable bet for a thief to make, the protocols are the problem. ”
I catch her gaze across the room. There is nothing performative in her expression—no calculation, no hedging. Just her, meaning every word.
“We can discuss a modified position,” Principal Winters suggests. “Perhaps consulting on security systems while minimizing direct student interaction?”
The offer represents exactly what integration has always demanded: accommodation through limitation. Restriction of natural abilities rather than channeling them appropriately. Separation rather than true acceptance.
“I appreciate the consideration,” I respond, “but I believe I can better serve protection needs through independent consultation based on StoneWatch principles. My resignation will be effective in two weeks, allowing time for transition arrangements.”
Something shifts in Principal Winters’ expression—not approval, exactly, but a reluctant respect. “Your dedication to your principles is… commendable, even if I disagree with your conclusions.”
“Thank you for your candor,” I acknowledge. “My resignation reflects no lack of commitment to the school’s safety. I simply cannot continue compromising methods I know to be effective.”
As the meeting concludes with administrative details, Riona remains present but silent, her supportive gaze never leaving me. When we finally exit together, she waits until we’re alone in the corridor before speaking.
“I’m proud of you,” she says simply, her hand finding mine. “That couldn’t have been easy after years of perfect compliance.”
“It wasn’t,” I admit. “Yet once spoken, the truth became impossible to retract.”
“So, an independent security consultant based on StoneWatch principles,” she muses, a smile playing at her lips. “I like it. It suits you better than hiding behind integration protocols.”
“The path ahead is uncertain,” I warn. “Independent work carries no guarantees.”
“But it allows you to be authentically yourself,” she counters. “To protect based on what you know works, not what makes humans comfortable.”
She is standing close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off her. I want her—not as a reaction to the day, not as relief after tension. Just steadily, the way I’ve wanted her for weeks, with no good reason to keep pretending otherwise.
I do not reach for her. The restraint is deliberate. Our gazes meet, trust is offered and received without words.
“You understand,” I say quietly, still a little undone by how completely she does.
“Of course I do.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ve watched you diminish yourself daily to fit human expectations. I’ve seen what it costs you. And I’ve glimpsed what you’re capable of when you stop holding back.”
We walk together toward her classroom, my mind already arranging the practical considerations of establishing an independent consultancy.
“Your artwork,” she says suddenly. “You should incorporate it.”
“My drawings? They’re memory exercises, not professional tools.”
“They’re expressions of your perspective,” she corrects. “Your security assessments should include them—visualizations of vulnerability points, protection strategies. It’s another way of reclaiming your complete self instead of compartmentalizing to fit human expectations.”
I have kept those drawings in a folder no one has ever seen. The idea of them becoming something useful—something seen—is stranger than I expected. And less unwelcome.
“I’ll consider it,” I promise, already seeing the potential.
As we reach her classroom, Grulk waits beside the door, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.
His eyes flick briefly to Riona, then back to me—a question.
I give the smallest shake of my head. Not to exclude her.
Just because Grulk has no filter, and I’m not sure anything he’s about to say needs an audience.
He steps forward, positioning himself so the exchange stays between us.
“News travels quickly,” he observes in Orcish. “The StoneWatch warrior finally remembers his true nature.”
“I’ve made no dramatic transformation,” I respond in the same language. “I just stopped compromising effectiveness for appearance.”
Grulk’s tusked grin spreads wide. He switches to English, including Riona. “Independent security work suits StoneWatch traditions. Many buildings in this territory require protection beyond human thinking.”
“You have contacts?” I ask, recognizing the implicit offer.
“Many,” he confirms. “HammerFall builds. StoneWatch protects.” He winks at Riona. “And your intended’s educational expertise provides administrative credibility humans respect. A strong partnership.”
Before I can correct his presumption, Riona speaks. “I’m happy to help with the administrative side,” she says easily. “Grant applications, certification paperwork, website content—the bureaucratic aspects that would drive a warrior to distraction.”
The casual way she says it—as if this is already decided, as if she has already placed herself beside me in whatever comes next—hits with startling force.
“This is your career, too,” I remind her. “Teaching is your calling.”
“And it remains my calling,” she assures me. “But supporting you in reclaiming your authentic path doesn’t diminish mine. Besides,” she smiles, “school doesn’t run year-round. Summers are perfect for building something new together.”
Grulk watches our exchange with obvious satisfaction. “The clan gathering next week will be the perfect place to announce your new path. Elder Torgun has connections with every building project in three counties. Many will welcome protection based on sacred principles rather than human optics.”
As he departs, leaving us at the threshold of Riona’s classroom, I feel the weight of all that compromise lifting from my shoulders. The path ahead contains uncertainty, yes—but also the promise of integrity reclaimed.
“No regrets?” Riona asks softly, her hand still in mine.
“None,” I answer without hesitation. I think of my father—seventeen honor bands, clan leader, a male who never made himself smaller for anyone’s comfort. For eight years, I became the opposite of that. I am done.
“I am done offering less than I am.”
She remains beside me, steady and warm. The corridor has gone quiet; the building exhales around us. For the first time all day, I am not scanning for threats or calculating outcomes. I am simply here, grounded, certain.
What lies ahead no longer feels like something I must brace for.
It feels chosen.
I look at her. She looks back. There is nothing else I need to know.