Stone sits at a tiny kitchen table, surrounded by papers. City documents. Placement program guidelines. A half-eatensandwich abandoned beside scribbled notes. He looks up when I enter, and the worry on his face cracks something in me.
"You came."
"I said I would."
He stands. Uncertain. Like he's not sure if I'm here to end things or begin them. The vulnerability in his posture makes my throat tight.
"Brunch was bad?"
"Complicated." I close the door behind me. "Evan offered me a job."
Stone goes very still. "A job."
"Logistics coordinator. Good salary. Benefits. Everything sensible people want."
"What did you say?"
"I said I'd think about it."
He nods. Slow. Processing. His hands flex at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
"That makes sense. Practical choice."
"He also offered to cover my bills. Take over the bookstore lease. Give me breathing room."
"Generous."
"Very."
The silence stretches. Stone looks at his papers. At me. At the floor. Anywhere but directly meeting my eyes.
"So you're here to?—"
"I don't know why I'm here." The admission bursts out. "I don't know anything anymore. A week ago, my life made sense. I had plans. Goals. A clear path forward. Then you crashed through my awning and everything got complicated and now strangers on the internet are debating whether we're adorable or evidence of societal decline and the city might pull my grant funding and Evan's offering solutions that would fix everything if I just?—"
"Step back." Stone finishes quietly. "From me."
"He didn't say that exactly."
"He didn't have to."
I sink into a chair. Exhausted suddenly. "The civic office wants to review my festival application. Because of the publicity. The tweets. Us."
Stone's jaw tightens. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I exist wrong. In their eyes."
"That's not?—"
"It is." He sits across from me. Careful. Like approaching something skittish. "I'm orc. You're human. We cross boundaries people want kept solid. That makes us political whether we want to be or not."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"Tess thinks I'm falling too fast. She's worried I'm repeating old patterns. Committing to complications because I can't help myself."
"Are you?"
