Thornak's jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath his weathered skin. "Looks like someone's been taking timber from the back acres without asking."
The casual way he delivers this information doesn't fool either of us. Maddie's hand finds his arm, fingers curling around the thick muscle there.
"Taking timber? You mean stealing?"
"Happens sometimes during festival season." His voice carries the forced calm of a man trying not to worry his wife. "People get desperate for materials, think no one will notice a few trees here and there. I'll take care of it."
Maddie studies his face with the intensity she usually reserves for testing cake batter. "You sure that's all it is?"
"I'm sure." He presses another kiss to her forehead, this one lingering. "Just need to have a conversation with whoever thinks my forest is their personal lumber yard."
The protective edge in his voice makes me glad I'm not the one stealing trees. Maddie seems to accept his reassurance, though I catch the flicker of concern that crosses her features before she forces a bright smile.
"Well, speaking of new faces around town—" Her tone shifts to the conspiratorial register that means gossip is incoming. "Cal's got herself a new writer at the paper. Another orc, actually. Brakkor something-or-other."
Thornak's expression doesn't change, but something shutters behind his eyes. "Not interested in making friends."
"That's probably for the best." The words slip out before I can help them, sharper than I intended. "He seems like an ass."
Maddie raises an eyebrow at my vehemence, but before she can probe deeper, I stand from my stool and smooth down my skirt. "Actually, I should get going. Could I get enough croissants for the whole team? Five should do it."
"Of course." Maddie bustles behind the counter, selecting the golden pastries with practiced efficiency. "These are fresh from the second batch—still warm."
I hand over the coins, the metal warm from my palm, and accept the cloth-wrapped bundle. The croissants radiate heat through the fabric, their buttery scent making my mouth water despite the lingering disappointment over the missing scones.
The walk to The Whistle takes only a few minutes, but the weight of Thornak's news settles heavier with each step. Stolen timber, missing honey deliveries—probably nothing more than coincidental festival season chaos. Still, the timing bothers me in ways I can't articulate.
Jamie's face lights up when I enter the office with the bundle of pastries. "Croissants! You're the best, Calla."
But his expression falls slightly as he peers into the cloth wrapping. "No lavender honey scones today?"
"Still waiting on that honey delivery." I set the bundle on the central table where everyone can reach it. "Maddie's supplier seems to be running late."
Jamie's eyes widen, his pen freezing mid-word over whatever he's been scribbling. "Wait, that could be connected to?—"
"Focus on your article." My voice cuts through his speculation like a blade. "Not wild theories."
His mouth snaps shut, but I catch the frustrated gleam in his eyes as he turns back to his work. Good. The last thing I need is him chasing shadows and rumors.
My gaze drifts across the office, taking inventory of my team. Sarah hunches over her desk, silver wings tucked close as she sketches festival layout diagrams. Jonathan types steadily at his enchanted typewriter, the keys glowing softly under his long fingers.
And there's Brakkor, slouched in his chair with an expression of profound boredom as he stares at a blank piece of parchment. His dark hair falls across his forehead, and those short tusks catch the light as he grimaces. Even sitting still, he radiates the restless energy of a predator forced into captivity.
Our eyes meet for a split second before I force myself to look away and head for my office.
CHAPTER 6
BRAKKOR
The enchanted press hums with residual magic as I approach, its bronze gears still warm from the day's work. Jamie hunches over a stack of proofs near the typesetting station, his ink-stained fingers sorting through festival announcements.
"Torres."
He jumps, nearly knocking over a bottle of correction fluid that glows faintly blue in the lamplight.
"Oh. Brakkor. I thought everyone had left."
"Not quite." I lean against the press, feeling the gentle vibration of dormant enchantments through my shoulder. "Earlier today, you mentioned something about connections. Missing honey, missing cargo. What exactly did you mean?"
