Page 49 of Orc’s Gallows

“I’m not deciding to die.” I pull her close, wrap my arms around her, let her bury her face against my shoulder. “I’m deciding to fight. To give us the best chance of winning. And if that means walking into the square and letting the Judge think it’s won…” I press my lips to her hair. “Then that’s what I do.”

“I can’t lose you.” The words are muffled against my shirt. “I found you. I can’t⁠—”

“You won’t.” I tilt her face up, make her look at me. “Because you’re going to be the one who saves me. When the Judge is distracted, when its guard is down, you’re going to tear its anchor from the earth and turn its own power against it. You’re going to destroy the monster that’s haunted this city for centuries. And then you’re going to come get me.”

She stares at me for a long moment. I watch her process the plan—the risks, the variables, the thousand ways it could go wrong.

Then she kisses me.

Fierce. Desperate. Full of all the things we haven’t had time to say.

“If you die,” she breathes against my lips, “I will find a way to bring you back so I can kill you myself.”

Despite everything, I smile. “That’s my death witch.”

Night falls over Blackhook City.

The riots have died down—not from resolution, but from exhaustion. The streets are quiet in the way of held breath, waiting for dawn, waiting to see what happens when the platform stands empty for the first time in generations.

I stand at the window of my chambers, watching the Grand Gallows rise against the moonlit sky. The ropes sway without wind. The platform seems to throb with malevolent awareness. The Judge is there, waiting in the foundations, growing stronger on its accumulated power even without fresh executions to feed on.

Arms wrap around me from behind. Ismerie presses herself against my back, her cheek between my shoulder blades, her hands flat against my ribs.

“Come to bed.” Her words are soft. “We have hours before dawn. We should rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Neither am I.” She moves around to face me, slides her hands up my torso to loop behind my neck. “But I want to be with you. I want to sense you against me. I want—” Her words catch. “I want to make memories. In case…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to.

I lift her in my arms, carry her to the bed, lay her down with a gentleness that feels foreign in hands built for violence. She pulls me down with her, and for a while, we don’t think about the Judge or the council or the chaos consuming the city.

We hold each other.

Later—much later—she lies curled against my side, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin. The claiming sigil warms between us, a constant reminder of the choice I made on that platform.

“Tell me about it.” Drowsy, content. “The moment you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you loved me.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “The exact moment.”

I consider the question. Try to pinpoint when attraction became need, when need became devotion, when devotion crystallized into love.

“The graveyard.” The answer surprises me as much as it surprises her. “When you stood among all those graves—all the evidence of my crimes—and you didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge. You looked at me and saw… someone who could be better. Someone worth saving.” I hold her tighter. “No one has ever looked at me like that. No one has ever believed I could be anything other than the monster the platform made me.”

“You’re not a monster.” She presses her lips to my chest, right above my heart. “You’re a man who made terrible choices and is finally choosing differently.”

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know.” She’s honest even now, even in the dark, even when lies would be easier. “But it’s a start. And that’s more than most people ever manage.”

I pull her closer. Breathe in the scent of her hair. Try to memorize every detail of this moment—her warmth, her weight, the way she fits against me like she was made to be there.

“When this is over,” I tell her, “know that I don’t regret any of it. The claiming. The defiance. Choosing you over everything they told me I was supposed to be.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re worth every sacrifice. Every risk. Every moment of chaos.”

“Don’t talk like you’re saying goodbye.” Her words sharpen with fear she can’t quite hide. “This is a plan, not a suicide mission. You’re going to distract the Judge while I destroy its anchor, and then we’re going to tear down that platform and make something different from the wreckage.”