Then I haul everything up three flights of stairs that creak like they're personally offended by my weight.
The apartment is exactlyas advertised. Cozy. Which means my bed takes up half the room and my desk takes up the other half and there's a sliver of floor space where I can stand if I don't breathe too deeply.
The kitchen is shared. Down the hall. I passed it on the way in. Smelled like burnt toast and someone's failed attempt at curry.
I drop the crates. The duffel. Sit on the edge of the bed and it groans.
This is it. My fresh start. My chance to prove that orcs can integrate. That we're not just warriors and laborers and cautionary tales parents tell their kids at bedtime.
I lift out my ledger. The one I've been keeping since I left home. Half budget tracker, half journal, half terrible poetry. I know that's three halves. Math was never my strength.
The margins are full of scribbled lines. Observations. Feelings I don't know how to say out loud.
I write:Day one. Ate a stranger's sandwich. Made a friend anyway. City smells like possibilities and exhaust.
It doesn't scan. Doesn't rhyme. But it's honest.
I close the ledger and stare at the ceiling. There's a water stain shaped like a duck. Or maybe a cloud. Or maybe nothing at all and my brain is just desperate to find patterns in chaos.
Loneliness sits in my chest like a stone.
Not the sad kind. The waiting kind. Thethis will get betterkind.
I hope.
Morning comeswith someone's alarm bleeding through the walls. I'm up before it stops. Old habits. Orc encampments don't have snooze buttons.
I dress. Splash water on my face from the tiny sink in the corner. Avoid looking at myself in the mirror because mornings are hard enough without confronting my reflection.
The packet arrived last night. Slipped under my door while I was attempting to organize spices in alphabetical order and giving up halfway through.
Thick envelope. Official seal. City Cultural Integration Office stamped across the front.
I open it over breakfast. Which is three apples and a hunk of bread I bought from a corner vendor who looked alarmed when I asked for the whole loaf.
The first page is a welcome letter. Standard stuff. Congratulations on your placement. We're excited to have you. Please review the attached guidelines.
I flip to the guidelines.
Do maintain a respectful demeanor at all times.
Do not engage in displays of excessive strength or aggression.
Do remember you represent your entire species.
That last one sits heavy. I read it twice. Three times.
I represent my entire species. Every orc who wants to live in a city. Every orc who's tired of being stereotyped. Every orc who just wants to make soup without someone assuming it's made from human bones.
No pressure.
The second page lists my assignment. Cross-Cultural Placement Program. Small Business Support Initiative. I'll be paired with a local shop. Help out. Learn the ropes. Show everyone that orcs can behelpfulinstead ofterrifying.
The name of the business is printed in bold.
Ellis Books & Brews.
A bookshop. With coffee.
