Page 67 of Heimlock

Instead of walking in, he says evenly, “Kyrielle, you’re trying my patience.”

Undeterred, I sweep a hand forward. “Come on. Let me show you how I spend my time.”

Trinte’s lips thin. “You assume I care.”

His blunt words wound far deeper than I realized he could hurt me. Biting down my quavering lip, I motion a little more impatiently, not trusting my voice.

Giving me a long look, he walks inside. Taking a fortifying breath, I follow.

“What the Hells is this place?” He sounds surprised.

“A homeless shelter.”

Trinte looks at me sharply. “You spend time at a homeless shelter?”

I shrug, leading him to the sign-up table. “I stayed here sometimes for a few months before Talia took me in as her own. I come here to help with meals.”

“You were homeless?” The tone of his voice is softer; more curious.

I stop at the end of the line. “About six months. It was right after I ran away from home.”

Trinte is silent, and I’m too cowardly to discover what his expression might be.

“This is where you find the women.” It’s not a question. Finally, I’m brave enough to look at him. His expression takes my breath away. It’s so open, curious, and vulnerable. Instantly, I want to cry for him. Trinte is hiding so much, more than I think anyone will ever know.

“Yeah. This is where I find people to help.” Fighting back the tears of empathy, I continue. “I wish there had been someone out there like me ready to kick my step-dad’s ass. So I became who younger me needed.”

“That’s admirable,” he murmurs.

Offering a crooked grin, I say, “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Hey Kyri!” Sieve, the project manager, sits at the check-in table. He’s an older Elf with scraggly white hair shooting out from the sides of his head, leaving a shining slap of skin on top.

“Hey Sieve! This is my friend, Trinte. He’s joining us to serve dinner tonight.”

Sieve stands and offers his hand to Trinte. “Welcome, Trinte. We can use every extra hand.” Sieve examines him quickly. “You okay with manual labor?”

“Yes?” Trinte frowns, shooting me a confused look.

I laugh. “I think they’re going to take advantage of those big muscles.”

A teeny tiny smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t let the meathead be lazy.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Sieve announces. To me, he says, “We need someone on rolls, pasta, or protein. Your pick.”

“On it,” I say cheerfully. Trinte gives me a pained look, then follows Sieve to the storage rooms.

After greeting my friends, I choose the rolls section. Service hasn’t started yet, so I help unpack plates and silverware. When the bell sounds, signalling the beginning of dinner, I return to the bowl of bread, picking up a pair of tongs.

Families stream in through the double doors, kids chattering loudly. Some hop in excitement. I match their energy in my expression, loving their enthusiasm. Most of the shelter is dedicated to families.

Knowing so many of them, I pause to talk to each one. Some linger to tell a quick story, and most of the kids ask for my daily joke. Each time I come in, I have a new joke ready.

Fillipe, a fellow Fire Sprite, bounds up, paper plate flapping in the air. “Kyri! Kyri! Joke! Give me the joke!”

His red fingertips steady the plate as I place a roll on top. “Why did the Dragon cross the road?”

He squeezes an eye shut, contemplating an answer. “I don’t know. Why?”