"You sent an email."
"An email isn't enough." I take a shaky step closer. "You deserve more than a cowardly email. You deserve someone who can meet you halfway. Who can acknowledge when you've done something extraordinary. Who can bake you a terrible meat pie and stand here and tell you that I was wrong."
His expression shifts, something raw and vulnerable breaking through the careful control. "Wrong about what?"
"About pushing you away. About thinking I could just go back to my side of the alley and pretend you didn't completely upend my entire world. About believing I could function without you." The tears I've been fighting all night finally spill over, hot and furious against my cheeks. "I was standing in my kitchen tonight, staring at that stupid rolling pin, and I realized something. You didn't just change your behavior, Lanek. You changed your entire worldview. You suppressed centuries of cultural instinct because I asked you to. Because you wanted to be the partner I needed. And I couldn't even walk twenty feet to tell you how much that means to me."
He moves closer, closing the distance between us with one long stride, but he doesn't touch me. His hands hang at his sides, clenched into tight fists, trembling with visible restraint.
"I would change anything for you, Quinn. My methods. My traditions. My entire approach to protecting what is mine. I would rewrite every instinct I have if it meant keeping you."
"I know." I reach up, wiping furiously at my wet cheeks. "I know you would. And that's what makes this so much worse. Because I pushed you away for doing what I asked. I punished you for being perfect."
"I kidnapped a man and threatened him with a cleaver. That is not perfect."
"No, but you stopped. You listened when I told you it was too much. You adjusted. You adapted. You became what I needed without losing what makes you you." My hands twist in the fabric of my cardigan, desperate for something to hold onto. "And I was too scared to admit that maybe I need both. The modern partner who respects my choices and the primal Orc who would burn the world down to keep me safe."
His entire body goes rigid.
"Say that again."
"I need both." The admission comes easier this time, stronger. "I need the Lanek who researches zoning laws and the Lanek who pins me against brick walls and tells me I'm his. I need the butcher who brings me perfect cuts of wagyu and the warlord who terrifies food critics into leaving tips. I need all of you, Lanek. Not just the parts that fit neatly into my world."
For one horrible, endless moment, he just ganders at me, his expression utterly unreadable, those dark eyes searching my face for something I don't know how to give him.
Then his gaze flicks past me, deliberately breaking our connection, landing on something just beyond my shoulder.
I turn instinctively, following his line of sight, and my heart stops completely.
There's a massive duffel bag sitting at the base of the stairs, positioned like a silent declaration. Packed full to bursting. The military-grade canvas stretched tight. Zippers straining against the sheer volume of contents crammed inside, threatening to split at the seams.
Ready to go.
The air leaves my lungs in a violent rush, like someone's punched straight through my ribcage and squeezed.
"Where are you going?"
The question comes out smaller than I intended, barely above a whisper, but it echoes in the sudden awful silence between us.
He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw working visibly like he's physically chewing through words, trying to find the right ones, the ones that won't shatter whatever fragile thing still exists in this space.
"Lanek." My voice comes out sharper this time, higher, edged with the kind of panic that makes my throat tight and my hands shake. "Where are you going?"
"Away."
"What?"
"I am leaving, Quinn." He moves past me, crossing to the duffel bag and lifting it with one hand like it weighs nothing. "You asked for peace. So I am giving it to you."
"No." The word tears out of me, raw and desperate. "No, you can't leave. You can't just?—"
"I can." He turns back to face me, and the devastation in his eyes nearly breaks me. "I will not stay here and torture you with my presence. I will not be the reason you cannot sleep at night. I will not force you to see me every day and remember that I am too much. Too violent. Too possessive. Too Orc."
"That's not?—"
"You were right to end it." His voice is steady, resolved, and it's the steadiness that terrifies me most. "I pushed too hard. I claimed you before you were ready. I let my instincts override your comfort. You deserve better than a mate who has to fight his own nature every day just to avoid scaring you."
"Stop calling yourself my mate like it's past tense."
