4
LACY
The festival display looks like a disaster.
I step back. Survey the chaos spread across the cafe floor. Fabric samples. Poster board. Stone's hand-drawn diagrams that are equal parts brilliant and incomprehensible.
"This isn't working," I say.
Stone sits cross-legged amid the wreckage. A green mountain surrounded by creative carnage. He's holding two different spice jars like he's weighing which one represents his entire cultural identity better.
"The cardamom or the sumac?" he asks.
"Neither. Both. I don't know." I press my palms against my eyes. "We need a cohesive visual story. Right now it looks like a craft store exploded."
"Is that bad?"
"For a heritage festival? Yes."
He places both jars on the table. Studies the mess with those soft brown eyes that make him look perpetually worried about disappointing someone.
"Tell me what you see," he says. "When you look at this."
I lower my hands. Really look.
"Chaos. Good intentions. No clear throughline."
"Okay." He nods. "What should someone see?"
"Your story. Why you're here. What you're building."
"And what am I building?"
The question catches me off guard. Because it's not rhetorical. He genuinely wants to know what I think he's creating here.
I sink down beside him. The floor is hard under my jeans.
"A bridge," I say slowly. "Between where you came from and where you are now. Between orc traditions and city life. Between isolation and community."
He's quiet for a long moment.
"That's better than my answer," he finally says.
"What was your answer?"
"A place people won't make me leave."
The honesty punches straight through my chest. I turn to face him fully.
"Stone."
"It's fine." He picks up a fabric sample. Green linen that matches his skin. "I know how it sounds. Desperate. But Darius was right. Blair is circling. The program review is coming. I need to prove I belong here before someone decides I don't."
"You do belong here."
"Because you say so?"
"Because you show up every day and crush cardamom and draw terrible shelf diagrams and apologize to espresso machines." I grab his wrist. Make him look at me. "Because people line up for what you create. Because Mrs. Kowalski threatens violence on your behalf. Because this matters."
