I flip to a new page.
Start writing.
She laughed at the net / but not at me / there's a difference / I think / I hope
Terrible poetry.
But true.
I'm halfway through my morning stretches when Darius shows up.
No warning. Just the doorbell ringing at six forty-five, then his voice calling through the mail slot.
"Stone. Open up. I brought breakfast and bad news."
Mrs. Kowalski appears in her bathrobe. Gives me a look that saysyour friend has terrible timingwithout using words.
I open the door.
Darius stands there with two paper bags and the expression of someone who's already had too much coffee and not enough sleep. His tie is loose. Shirt wrinkled. He pushes past me into the kitchen.
"Councilwoman Blair is making noise," he announces, dropping the bags on the table. "Wanted you to hear it from me first."
Mrs. Kowalski watches from the doorway. Then quietly retreats. She's good at reading when conversations need privacy.
I sit. "What kind of noise?"
"The human-first kind." Darius pulls out two breakfast sandwiches. Hands me one. "She's been making rounds with the other council members. Pushing this narrative that the cultural exchange program is draining city resources. That we're prioritizing outsiders over local needs."
The sandwich tastes like cardboard in my mouth. I force myself to chew anyway.
"Is it working?"
"With some people, yeah." Darius unwraps his own food but doesn't eat. Just turns it over in his hands. "She's smart about it. Not outright hostile. Just concerned. Budget-conscious. Asking reasonable questions that happen to have really unreasonable implications."
"Like what?"
"Like why are we funding cultural programming when human small businesses are struggling. Why are we housing exchange workers when we have local unemployment. Why are we teaching people about orc traditions when they could be learning skills that actually benefit the city."
Each question lands like a small stone. Building into something heavier.
"That's not how the program works," I say carefully. "We're not taking resources. We're adding to them."
"I know that. You know that. But Blair's good at making people forget." Darius finally takes a bite of his sandwich. Chews mechanically. "She's got a meeting scheduled next week with the small business association. Planning to propose some policy changes that would basically gut the exchange program from the inside."
My stomach tightens. "Can she do that?"
"If she gets enough support, yeah. The program isn't as protected as it should be. Too new. Too easy to dismantle if people decide it's not worth the investment."
I think about Lacy. The shop. The Heritage Festival demonstration we've been planning. The coffee blend that makes the whole space smell like possibility.
"What do I do?"
Darius looks at me. Really looks. The exhaustion in his face sharpens into something protective.
"You keep being exactly what you are," he says. "Genuine. Useful. Impossible to dismiss as just some outsider taking up space. You make yourself matter to people. You build connections that are harder to break than some council policy."
"I brought a net to a networking event."
