A human man in an expensive but poorly fitted suit strides in, his thinning hair combed over in a way that suggests deep insecurity, his eyes scanning the room with obvious disdain until they land on Romee.
"There you are," Richard announces, his voice carrying across the space with all the authority of someone who has never been challenged in his life. "We need to talk about your consistent inability to meet basic professional standards."
Every Orc in the room turns toward him in unison, their massive frames shifting with a predatory grace that fills the lodge with an almost palpable sense of threat. Some wear expressions of pure incredulity, as if Richard has just suggested something physically impossible. Others radiate outright hostility, their amber eyes tracking him like he's prey that's wandered into unfamiliar territory.
They register what I've already assessed. Richard is a mid-level bureaucrat playing dress-up in an expensive suit, currently making the catastrophic error of his professional life.
Romee stands slowly, moving with the controlled precision of someone who has spent years managing chaos. Her face settles into something carefully blank, a corporate mask so polished it's almost impressive. But I know her now, know the tells that betray the steel underneath. I can see the tension coiled through her shoulders, the way her spine goes rigid as she braces for impact. Her hands curl into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening as she locks everything down, containing the exasperation that's clearly boiling beneath that professional veneer.
"Richard," she begins, her voice taking on that artificially pleasant tone she uses when addressing particularly difficultclients, the one that sets my teeth on edge because I can hear the contempt underneath, thinly veiled beneath layers of corporate courtesy. "I genuinely don't think this is the time or place for this conversation?—"
"I'll decide when it's time," Richard interrupts, moving toward her with the kind of aggressive confidence that only comes from a lifetime of facing zero consequences. "You work for me, Romee. That means when I show up, you make time."
He hasn't even acknowledged the room full of Orcs watching him, hasn't registered the danger, and I understand with cold clarity that this mediocre parasite has spent so long operating without resistance that he genuinely doesn't understand he's walking into a situation he can't control.
I move before I fully register the decision, crossing the room in three long strides and positioning myself directly between Richard and Romee, my full height and bulk finally registering in the human's awareness.
He stops abruptly, his eyes widening as he has to crane his neck back at an increasingly steep angle to meet my gaze, and I observe with grim satisfaction as the first flicker of genuine fear crosses his face, replacing the bloated indignation that had been there moments before.
"You're in my retreat," I tell him quietly, my voice deliberately pitched low, barely above a rumble, the kind of tone that carries absolute authority without needing to rise. "You're addressing my employee. Without permission. Without invitation. Without any legitimate reason to be here at all, actually."
Richard's face flushes a deep, mottled red, the color crawling up his neck as he sputters, his earlier swagger evaporating like mist under pressure.
"Your employee?" he says, the words coming out strangled and defensive. "Romee works for Pinnacle Events. I'm herdirect supervisor, and I'm well within my rights to—" He stops, seeming to realize mid-sentence that his authority means absolutely nothing in this moment, in this place, faced with someone who operates on an entirely different scale.
"No, she's resigning. Effective immediately. Which means you're trespassing."
Richard's mouth opens and closes repeatedly, like a fish suffocating on dry land, his face cycling through an increasingly alarming spectrum of purples and crimsons as the full weight of his powerlessness settles over him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, trembling with impotent fury.
"You can't just steal my employees," he sputters, his voice climbing higher with each word, taking on a shrill quality that echoes off the lodge's wooden beams. "I'll sue you for breach of contract. I'll destroy your company's reputation with everything I have. I'll make sure every corporate client in this city knows exactly what kind of unethical operation you're running. Do you have any idea who I am? Do you understand the connections I have?"
I regard him with the same flat, disinterested expression I'd use to examine a bug on my windshield. His threats wash over me like background noise—irritating, perhaps, but utterly inconsequential against the backdrop of what I've already built, what I'm capable of doing.
"No," I admit with brutal honesty, my voice remaining that same low, dangerous rumble. "And I don't care. I won't waste the mental energy learning." I pause, letting the silence stretch between us like a drawn bowstring. "You have exactly sixty seconds to remove yourself from this property before I have security escort you out physically. That's not a threat. That's a timeline. I'd suggest you use it wisely."
Behind me, I hear Romee make a small, choked sound that might be a laugh or might be pure stress, and Richard's eyes narrow as he seems to finally register what she's wearing.
"Are you—" He looks between us, his expression twisting into something ugly. "You're sleeping with a client? That's a fireable offense, Romee. You just ended your career."
The room goes very, very quiet.
I feel my control slip, feel the civilized veneer I've spent years maintaining crack under pure, territorial rage, and I'm half a second from doing something that will definitely require legal intervention when Romee steps around me, planting herself directly in front of Richard with her chin raised and her eyes blazing.
"I quit," she announces, her voice ringing clear across the lodge. "Effective immediately. I'll send you formal notice by end of business today, but consider this my verbal resignation. I'm done."
Richard stares at her, his face mottled with a shade of fury that's almost impressive in its intensity. His jaw works soundlessly for a moment, as though he's cycling through a dozen different responses, each one more incendiary than the last.
"You ungrateful—" he begins, his voice climbing toward a dangerous pitch.
"Thirty seconds," I interrupt. The words emerge low and rumbling from deep , each syllable weighted with the kind of promise that makes even my own executives shift uncomfortably in their seats.
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I can see the exact moment his brain catches up to what he's seeing. The amber of my eyes has probably gone full predator. My hands are clenched at my sides, tendons standing out like steel cables.Whatever expression is currently carved into my face apparently reads as a very clear and very final warning.
Discretion, it seems, becomes suddenly appealing to Richard.
"This isn't over," he hisses at Romee, his voice venom-thin as he backs toward the door with jerky, defensive movements. "You'll never work in this industry again. I'll make sure of it. Every connection I have, every?—"
Then he's gone, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the windows, and the lodge settles into a charged silence that feels almost physical.
