Kevin McLaughlin
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Chapter 157 - Maybe He Doesn’t, Either
🕑 Added 2025-05-07 20:46:01 +0000 UTCI had to take back all my previous thoughts about General Jefferson being stuffy and quiet, because holy shit, can that man throw a party.
Or maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe it was just soldiers in general. I’ve heard they know how to celebrate, and now I believed it. After the orcs were driven off, after the fires were finally out and the screaming had stopped, Camp Johnson came alive.
I don’t even know when it started. One minute we were hauling the wounded to medics and checking the rubble for survivors. The next, someone was stringing lights made from glow crystals, stew pots were bubbling over open flames, and a fire the size of a small car burned in the central courtyard with actual music playing beside it. Someone had found a few acoustic guitars and people who knew how to play them. And just like that, we weren’t in a war zone anymore, at least for a little while.
We were at a block party that happened to be surrounded by rubble and bloodstains. And somehow, that made it even better.
Soldiers danced like no one was watching. Or maybe like they knew everyone was watching and didn’t care. One guy climbed on top of a supply crate and attempted what I thought was a line dance, and half the crowd tried to follow him. They were terrible. They were also laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. I saw a medic doing shots with one of my ratkin, and someone had rigged a spit roast over a massive fire pit. It looked like that might have been a whole deer.
It was wild, wooly, and uncontrolled. None of it made sense. And it was perfect.
I wandered through it all like I was walking through someone else’s dream—part dazed, part relieved, and mostly just trying to remember how to exist without everything being life or death. I’d killed so many people today. Things, I reminded myself. Orcs. Not people, probably. It was still a lot. My shoulders ached. My ribs were sore. My armor had new scratches. My brain hadn’t quite caught up.
But my feet carried me forward anyway, past half a dozen dancing soldiers and a squad of ratkin who’d decided to form a drum circle using pots, pans, and what looked suspiciously like orc helmets.
Someone shoved a drink into my hand without even looking at me. I sniffed it. Apple cider—probably. It smelled like apples. And also maybe gasoline.
I drank it anyway.
Because we were alive. I was alive. And after everything we’d been through, that felt like reason enough to celebrate.
Kara found me first. I don’t know how. The camp was huge, packed with people, noise, and light, but she appeared beside me like it was nothing, shoving another cup into my hand with a smirk.
“Drink, general,” she said. “Doctor. Necromancer supreme. Breach-holder extraordinaire.”
I gave her a look, but took the cup anyway. “I’ve already had one mystery cider tonight.”
“This one’s better,” she promised. “Or worse. Depends on your goal.”
I sipped, and she was right. It was better. Or at least less flammable.
Kara clinked her cup against mine. “To not dying.”
I clinked back. “To you holding the flank.”
“To Sue not falling into a hole this time.”
“To not getting stabbed this time.”
We both laughed.
Speaking of Clay—he was already dancing. His shirt was off, his boots stomping, and he was twirling some poor exhausted corporal in a circle while a line of other soldiers egged him on. Kara nudged me with her elbow and raised her brows.
“You could join him,” she said. “Get in a spin or two. I’m sure he’d be delighted.”
I made a face and shook my head. “I don’t dance.”
“You totally do dance,” she replied. “You just haven’t had the right number of drinks yet.”
“Or the right level of shame deficit,” I said, grinning. “That’s important.”
She gave me a warm look—one of those rare Kara expressions that held no sarcasm at all. “You did good, Selena.”
Before I could say anything, a cheer went up from the fire pit, where a line of officers had climbed atop benches and crates. Carver stood tall in his battered armor, holding up his mug.
“A toast!” he bellowed. “To the people of Camp Johnson! For standing strong!”
A roar answered him.
Jefferson took the front, raising his cup. “To the alliance! For answering the call!”
More cheers. This time even louder.
Then Carver’s eyes found mine in the crowd.
“To Selena Serrano,” he said. “Who held the line when no one else could. Who stood against the horde and didn’t fall. And who reminded us why we fight.”
The crowd erupted like a thunderclap.
My face went hot. Kara clapped me on the back, nearly spilling my drink. I wanted to crawl under a table, but the sound was inescapable. And it was real, too. That volume was the gratitude these people felt. For just a second, I let myself feel it, to take it in.
I lifted my drink in return.
Jefferson had another toast. “To the day we proved the alliance matters. And to the people who made it more than just words on a map.”
More cheering. Someone nearby wiped their eyes. And then, at the edge of the crowd, there was a stirring, as people cleared a path for someone coming through.
Peter arrived like he was stepping onto a stage. Unlike the rest of us, he was clean, and I was jealous as hell of that. He was dressed in tailored riding leathers so polished they caught the firelight and turned it golden. His hair was loose around his shoulders, just tousled enough to suggest he hadn’t tried. He had the kind of face that made people pause to look. Tonight, everyone paused.
He didn’t make a grand entrance. He just walked in, quiet and easy, nodding politely to those who turned his way. A few soldiers stood straighter. One of the medics visibly blushed when he favored her with a smile. Someone near the food line murmured, “That’s Peter from KingsHaven, right?”
Of course it was. And of course, he was walking directly toward me.
Kara saw him coming, glanced at my face, and smiled. “I think I’ll go find somewhere else to be for a bit.”
“No, you really don’t have to…” Shit. She was already gone, the traitor.
Peter walked up like we’d planned to meet here all along. He didn’t ask to join me. He just sat down beside me, close enough that our elbows nearly touched, and held his drink loosely in one hand.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said.
I tilted my head just enough to glance at him. “Surprised you didn’t try the bonfire circle. You’d have had ten admirers handing you drinks in ten seconds.”
He smiled at that. It wasn’t a smug grin, but he was clearly amused at the idea. “Maybe I wanted to sit with someone who didn’t care about any of that.”
I huffed a breath through my nose. “Bold of you.”
“Accurate, though,” he said lightly. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames. “It’s been a long time since I saw anything like this.”
“Like what? Drunk soldiers line dancing in chainmail?”
“No,” he said, and his voice softened. “Hope. Joy. All of this, it’s bigger than just survival. These people have something to celebrate, and they’re making it happen.”
I didn’t answer at first. The fire crackled between us.
“You were incredible today,” he said after a moment.
I blinked. “You mean in the part where I almost got turned into magic wolf chow?”
He shook his head. “I mean the part where you stood up in spite of the odds, just because you felt it was the right thing to do. Where you held the breach when it should’ve been lost. Where you turned the tide, not just with power, but with your presence. They follow you, Selena. Not just because you’re strong, but because they feel safe when you’re near.”
I looked at him then. Really looked.
“That’s a hell of a line,” I said, keeping my tone light even as the words landed somewhere uncomfortably warm in my chest. How many drinks had I had? Two, I thought. I was pretty sure it was just two.
He turned toward me, expression unguarded. “It’s not a line.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I sipped my drink instead. But I didn’t move away. That probably said enough on its own.
For a few moments we just sat there, the party buzzing around us, the firelight dancing across his features and making him look even more golden than usual. Then he said something I wasn’t expecting.
“They’re fascinating, you know. The orcs.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating isn’t the word I’d have picked after they tried to kill all of us.”
He chuckled. “Formidable, then. They fought as a disciplined force. They’re even inventive, in their way. Those bombs they used on the wall? That was more than brute force. It showed a strong grasp of tactics and strategy. And they fought hard, but retreated when they knew they couldn’t win.”
“Yeah,” I said warily. “And left a crater in our wall to show for it.”
He glanced at me sidelong. “But imagine if that strength could be turned. If they could be recruited instead of destroyed. What if orcs didn’t have to be enemies?”
I stared at him. “You think the orcs want peace?”
“I think they want victory,” he said. “But maybe that just means no one’s given them a better option yet. If the ratkin can find common ground with humans, why not them?”
“Because the ratkin never tried to blow a hole in my face with a backpack,” I muttered, but then I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. If someone could pull it off, that would be one hell of a diplomatic win.”
Peter raised his glass slightly. “It would. And it might be what this world needs next.”
There was a moment of silence. Shit, was he really contemplating this? I hoped Peter wasn’t about to go get himself killed. I didn’t know him well, yet, but he was a help during the fighting for Camp Johnson. I’d seen him there, killing orcs beside Colonel Turner. I didn’t want him dead.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You think you’re the one to do it?”
He didn’t deny it. Just smiled, slow and confident, like the idea wasn’t a boast, but a promise. The fire popped. Somewhere across the courtyard, someone had started singing a ballad in a voice that wasn’t even close to sober.
I looked back at Peter. The moment lingered a little too long. The shared look, a little too warm.
“Maybe you should dance,” he said, finally.
“Maybe you should get me another drink,” I replied.
He rose without hesitation, a grin tugging at his lips. “As you wish.”
Was he quoting movie lines at me now? Shit, I might actually be in trouble here. As he vanished into the crowd, I sat back, let the fire warm my face, and tried not to think too hard about why my heart was beating faster than before.
Peter returned with two more drinks, one of which he handed to me with a little mock bow. “Your cider, my lady.”
“Chivalry’s alive after all,” I replied, accepting the drink. I took a sip, and this one was definitely stronger than the last. It fizzed behind my teeth and burned a little on the way down. Or maybe that was just the way Peter’s eyes lingered on me afterward. He didn’t press. Just stayed beside me, quiet for a few moments before lifting his drink in a casual salute.
“To those who do the impossible,” he said softly. “May they never flinch when the world dares them to try.”
My throat caught a little at that, but I raised my cup. “To the impossible.”
We drank. The fire crackled. Around us, the music shifted again, growing louder, wilder. People had moved on from recognizable dances and were making up their own dance moves. I saw Kara laughing somewhere in the crowd, her coat unbuttoned and her hair loose for once. Clay was still shirtless, still dancing near the fires. He caught my eye, saw Peter there with me, and immediately turned away.
I glanced at Peter, watching him as his eyes tracked the flames in front of us.
“You’re full of surprises,” I said, eventually.
“I’ve been told,” he replied. “Though usually with more suspicion than flattery.”
I didn’t deny it. I just took another sip and leaned back slightly, watching him over the rim of my cup. He was dangerous. Not in a sword-to-the-throat way, but in that slow, sun-warmed smile and careful choice of words way. The kind that could make you forget what he was really after.
I didn’t think he was lying to me. But I remembered that he wasn’t telling me everything, either.
The fire popped again, and before I could say more, someone called his name. He gave me a polite nod and stepped away to join them. I let out a slow breath and stood as well, setting my cup down beside the bench. The party was still going strong, but I was spent. Happy, sure, but too tired to keep pretending I wasn’t holding myself together with stubbornness.
I climbed the steel fire escape running up the side of one of the brick buildings scattered about the place and found a quiet rooftop that overlooked the camp. From there, the whole place glowed. I watched people dancing in the firelight, laughing, and drinking between the tents and rubble like the world wasn’t still broken. I let myself breathe it in.
Kara joined me a moment later, handing me a bottle of something unlabeled and amber. She didn’t sit. Just leaned against the edge of the roof beside me, arms folded.
“He likes you, you know,” she said.
I didn’t answer at first. I knew who she meant. Finally, I answered. “Yeah. I know.”
“So?”
I exhaled through my nose. “I just don’t know what he wants.”
Kara shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t, either. That can make it fun.”
“Or dangerous.”
We stood there together for a while, not saying anything. We watched the flickering lights, and the people who still had reasons to smile.
Eventually, the music picked up again below. I stayed where I was, not ready to join in and not ready to leave. We all knew the fighting wasn’t over yet. Not even close. But we’d earned ourselves a moment to breathe, and that felt good.
