He takes a single step toward me, then stops himself. His jaw tightens, and he stays where he is, maintaining the distance I demanded.
"I will send the footage to your email," he says quietly. "You can decide what to do with it. File a police report. Forward it to your lawyer. Use it as leverage against the developer. Or delete it entirely. It is your choice, Quinn. Your business. Your fight."
Something inside my chest cracks wide open.
He's giving me control. Complete, total control over how to handle this. He's not charging in to fix it. He's not making decisions on my behalf. He's just... providing me with the tools I need and stepping back.
Exactly what I asked for.
"Where..." I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. "Where did you learn all of that? The statutes. The legal codes."
A faint, humorless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I have spent the last three days reading every municipal zoning regulation, health code provision, and tenant protection law I could find. I do not understand most of it. The language isconfusing and the structure is inefficient. But I memorized the sections that apply to your lease and your business operations."
My throat tightens painfully.
"Why?"
"Because you were right. I was trying to solve your problems the only way I knew how. With violence. With intimidation. With my fists and my size and my instincts. But you do not need a warlord, Quinn. You need a partner who respects your agency and your intelligence. Someone who can support you without taking over."
He lifts the phone slightly, the screen still glowing in the dim light.
"I cannot change what I am. I will always be an Orc. I will always have the instinct to defend you, to protect you, to eliminate any threat that comes near you. But I can choose how I act on those instincts. I can choose to use human laws and human methods instead of Orc traditions."
His gaze holds mine, steady and unwavering.
"If you will let me try."
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't do anything except stand here, clutching this ridiculous rolling pin, staring at the enormous, terrifying, utterly devoted Orc who just spent three days teaching himself an entirely foreign legal system because I told him I needed him to change.
And he did.
He actually did.
"I am not asking you to forgive me," Lanek continues, his voice going even quieter. "I know I hurt you. I know I overstepped. I know I have to earn your trust back. But I want you to know that I am trying, Quinn. I will keep trying. For as long as it takes."
He takes a slow, deliberate step backward, increasing the distance between us.
"I will send you the footage. If you need anything else—documentation, witness testimony, a written statement for your lawyer—you know where to find me."
He turns and starts walking toward his shop.
Every fiber of my being screams at me to stop him. To call him back. To close the space between us and tell him that he doesn't have to keep punishing himself, that I see what he's doing, that I understand how hard this is for him.
But my voice won't work. My feet won't move.
I just watch as he reaches his back door, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light spilling from inside his shop.
He pauses at the threshold, his hand resting on the doorframe. For a moment, I think he's going to turn around. Going to say something else.
But he doesn't.
He steps inside, and the heavy steel door swings shut behind him with a quiet, final click.
The deadbolt slides into place.
And I'm alone in the alley again, holding a marble rolling pin and trying very hard not to cry.
