“Not much to say yet.”

Crombie gave Allareon a short nod.

“Appreciate the help with the fight,” he said, voice low and even. Nothing more.

He turned away before the elf could reply and moved straight to the broken wagon. Several of the traders were already struggling with the heavy load, trying to lift it high enough to slide a spare wheel into place. Without a word, Crombie stepped in, braced his powerful legs, and simply lifted.

The entire front of the wagon rose several inches with a groan of strained wood. The men beneath it stared for a second before scrambling to work faster. Crombie held the weight steady, blue fur shifting across thick muscle, white mane falling forward as he focused on the task. His halberd and shield rested nearby, and the magically bound chest remained secure against his hip.

Allareon watched him from a few paces away, arms loosely crossed, one blade still in hand. The elf’s sharp eyes missed nothing — the ease with which Crombie held the wagon, the controlled way he breathed, the way his gaze kept flicking toward the treeline even while he worked.

Joy had climbed down from her wagon and now leaned against the side of it, lute resting against her hip. Her green eyes moved between the two males with open interest. She didn’t interrupt. She simply watched, tail swaying slowly, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Crombie stayed focused on the repair. When one of the traders asked if he needed help holding it, he gave another short answer.

“I’ve got it.”

Allareon eventually spoke again, voice calm and quiet enough that only Crombie could hear over the sounds of work.

“You’re not very talkative.”

Crombie didn’t look at him. “Not much to say yet.”

The elf gave a soft, amused huff but didn’t push. He simply stayed where he was, observant and patient, like a cat watching a much larger predator decide whether it was friend or threat.

Joy, on the other hand, made no effort to hide her interest. When Crombie shifted his grip on the wagon and the muscles across his back and shoulders flexed visibly beneath his blue fur, her ears perked. Her gaze lingered on the line of his body, then drifted to the way the magical chest stayed perfectly attached to him no matter how he moved.

She caught his eye once and gave him a slow, deliberate wink — the same one she had given him earlier on the road. This time it carried a clear message: I’m still watching you.

Crombie felt the heat of it but kept his expression neutral. He was aware of both of them now. Allareon’s calculating stillness. Joy’s open, playful hunger. Neither of them felt like immediate threats, but both were clearly paying very close attention to the towering Bugbear with the bound chest and the quiet strength.

The wheel was finally secured. Crombie lowered the wagon carefully and stepped back, rolling his shoulders. The traders thanked him with genuine relief. He gave them another short nod and retrieved his halberd and shield.

Allareon was still there when he turned around.

Joy had moved a little closer too, now standing near the front of her own wagon, tail curled around one leg as she watched him.

The convoy was almost ready to move again. The road ahead was still long, the next town still distant, and the magical compass at Crombie’s belt continued to pulse softly.

Two pairs of eyes were on him.

One sharp and unreadable.

One warm, teasing, and openly interested.

Crombie stayed aware of both.