My fingers closed around it, the weight solid and warm in my palm. I could still see him dropping it on that counter, the quiet dignity in the gesture. Payment for services rendered—except the services had been cut short by Nadine's bigotry.
It wasn't mine to keep. But at least I'd kept it from her.
The church food pantry was always scraping by, or maybe the VA—God knew the veterans around here needed every penny they could get. I'd figure it out in town. At least something decent could come from that nightmare.
The gold went into my purse with a heavy thunk, settling against my wallet like an anchor. Like a promise.
The truck's engine turned over with a familiar rumble, and I pointed it toward Franklin. Twenty minutes of winding mountain roads, the forest gradually giving way to scattered houses, then neighborhoods, then the cluster of buildings that passed for downtown. The town was stretching awake—coffee shop windows glowing warm, shop owners flipping their signs to "Open," a few early birds already out running errands.
I knew exactly where I was going first.
Franklin Drugs sat on the south end of town like a time capsule, all weathered brick and old-world charm. Kelsey had inherited the place from her father, and she'd kept everything exactly as it had been—the green awning that had faded to the color of sea glass, the hand-painted mortar-and-pestle sign creaking gently in the breeze, even the brass bell that announced every customer with the same cheerful chime it had rung for forty years.
I pushed through the door and breathed in that distinctive pharmacy perfume—antiseptic sharpness softened by paper and the ghost of penny candy from the jars Kelsey still kept by the register.
She glanced up from behind the counter, reading glasses sliding down her nose, dark blonde hair escaping its bun in wispy tendrils. The moment she recognized me, her expression cycled through surprise, pleasure, then landed on concern.
"Jordan? What are you doing here? Isn't this your off week?"
I crossed to the counter, scanning the empty aisles. Good. We were alone. "It is. Kels, I need to talk to you about something that happened last night."
The inventory sheet in her hands hit the counter. "What's wrong?"
The story spilled out of me like a confession. "They brought in a little Orc boy. Gunshot wound to the chest."
"Jesus." Kelsey's hand flew to her mouth. "Is he okay?"
"He will be. I got the bullet out, stitched him up, stabilized him." My knuckles went white against the counter's edge. "But his father—this big Orc who was trying so hard to hold it together—you should have seen him with that kid, Kels. The way he touched him, so careful. So gentle."
"At least he had someone who—"
"Nadine threw them out." The words tasted like poison. "Mid-treatment. Before I could give him another round of antibiotics, before pain meds, before I could explain wound care. She just... she looked at them like they were vermin. Like they were nothing."
Kelsey's jaw tightened. "That bitch."
"Yeah." The word came out soft. Tired. "She really is."
I yanked my prescription pad from my purse and snatched a pen from the cup on her counter. My hand moved almost of its own accord.
"What are you doing?" Kelsey leaned forward, watching me write.
"What I should have done last night." The pen scratched across the pad—amoxicillin-clavulanate, pediatric dosing for approximately six years old, twice daily for ten days. Then a second script: acetaminophen with codeine, age-appropriate strength. I signed both with a decisive flourish and ripped them free.
Kelsey plucked them from my fingers, her eyes scanning the prescriptions. A grin spread slowly across her face, sharp and conspiratorial. "You're going to find him."
"If I can."
"Give me five minutes." She was already halfway to the pharmacy counter. "We keep the pediatric formulations in stock."
I watched her disappear through the doorway, pulse thrumming in my ears. Technically, this was all above board—I had prescribing privileges, the scripts were legitimate treatment for a patient. But something about it still felt like rebellion. Like finally doing something that mattered.
Kelsey materialized in under four minutes, triumphant, a white paper bag crinkling in her grip. "Antibiotics and pain relief, as ordered." She set them on the counter between us. "Plus I threw in some sterile gauze, medical tape, antibiotic ointment. You know, for all that wound care instruction you got cheated out of giving."
The bag blurred slightly as I reached for it. "Kels, I—"
"Save it." But her smile was warm. "So how exactly do you plan on finding them? It's not like Orcs are listed in Google Maps."
"I called Sarah this morning. On the drive in." The bag was surprisingly light in my hands, considering the weight of what it represented. "Figured if anyone knew where the settlement was, it'd be her."