The words taste wrong. Too small, too careful, too bland. But if bland keeps Lacy safe from scrutiny, I'll learn to be the most boring orc this city has ever pretended to tolerate.
Racksof human clothing at the thrift store hang in sizes that will never fit properly across my shoulders or accommodate the breadth of my chest.
The clerk, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a nervous smile, approaches cautiously.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Suit." I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. "For business."
"Oh. Well." She surveys me like I'm a particularly challenging Tetris piece. "We don't usually stock but let me check the back."
She returns with three options. All black or gray. All requiring significant alterations that she assures me her sister can handle for an extra fee I can't really afford.
I choose the least offensive option. Try it on in a changing room clearly designed for someone half my size, emerging to examine myself in the three-way mirror.
The jacket pulls across my shoulders. The pants stop short of my ankles. The collar button won't close around my neck without choking me.
"Very professional," the clerk lies kindly.
I look like a child playing dress-up in adult clothes. Or an orc trying desperately to cosplay as human and failing at every seam.
But maybe that's enough. Maybe the attempt matters more than the execution.
I buy the suit.
The fundraiser isn'ton my calendar. Wasn't mentioned during our hurried phone call this morning when Lacy explained she had back-to-back meetings about the grant review and couldn't meet for lunch.
I learn about it from a social media clip that autoplays while I'm scrolling through my feed, searching for the latest damage from our viral moment.
The video shows Lacy in a blue dress I've never seen. Hair styled differently, makeup careful and deliberate. She looks polished in a way that makes my chest tighten with something between admiration and unease.
She's smiling at Evan.
He's touching her elbow, leaning in to whisper something that makes her laugh. The caption reads:Local business leaders gather to discuss sustainable growth initiatives. #CommunityFirst #SmallBusinessSupport
I watch it three times.
Each viewing adds another detail I don't want to see. The familiar ease between them. The way he guides her through the crowd like he owns both the room and her presence in it. How she doesn't pull away.
My phone alerts. Darius.
Dude. Don't do anything stupid.
Too late. I'm already grabbing my keys, shoving my feet into boots, heading for the door.
The venue is downtown,all glass and modern architecture that makes me feel like a boulder someone left on a chess board. Security eyes me as I approach, hands moving subtly toward weapons they probably shouldn't need at a business fundraiser.
"I'm with someone inside." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"Name?"
"Stone Venn."
They exchange glances. One types something into a tablet, frowning.
"You're not on the list."
"Check again."
