"Tomorrow," she says. "We fight for you. For all of us."
Greth nods. "We show them orcs belong here. Not because we've earned it by being convenient. Because it's true."
The gathering breaks up slowly. People drift to sleeping quarters or back to private conversations. But the solidarity holds, warm as the dying fire.
Darius walks with me to the courtyard edge.
"You really love her," he says. Not a question.
"Yeah."
"Enough to weather this? The public scrutiny, the political fights, the constant negotiation of being visible?"
I think about Lacy's hands on old books. Her careful budgets and fierce loyalty and the way she tastes like coffee and determination.
"Enough to weather anything," I say.
He laughs, soft and a little sad. "Lucky bastard."
"Your turn's coming."
"Maybe." He looks up at the city lights bleeding into night sky. "Meanwhile, I'll help you keep what you found. That's what we do, right? Fight for each other's right to exist loudly."
"That's exactly what we do."
I head back toward Lacy's neighborhood, mind settling into clearer focus. The plan's good. Not perfect, not guaranteed, but good. We'll show the city what orc integration actually looks like when given room to breathe.
Cooking demos starting this weekend. Story hours. Collaborative volunteer projects. All the quiet, normal work of building community, just amplified and visible.
Blair wants to paint us as dangerous disruption. We'll be undeniably, boringly helpful instead.
My phone lights. Text from Lacy.
You okay?
I smile, typing back with clumsy thumbs.
Better now. Came home. Made plans. Coming back to you soon.
Our home or my home?
The question stops me on the corner. We've been dancing around this for weeks. She stays at my place sometimes, I crash at hers. But we haven't named it, haven't made it official.
Maybe after tomorrow. When we know if we have a future in this city or if we're fighting for scraps.
Yours tonight,I type.If that's okay.
It's perfect. I'll leave the door unlocked.
I pick up pace, suddenly urgent to be back in her space. Small apartment with creaking floors and stacks of books, where I have to duck doorframes and her coffee mugs look like dollhouse props in my hands.
Where she looks at me like I'm exactly the right size.
The streets are quieter this time of night. I pass closed shops and late buses, thinking about tomorrow. The hearing. The testimony. The faces that will decide whether people like me get to stay, get to build lives here, get to love who we choose without permission.
I think about Greth's words.Be orc, be proud, be present.
I think about Lacy's compass, pointing north even when the path isn't clear.
