"The elder council called you in," she says. Statement, not question.
"Yeah."
"They don't approve."
"They're scared. Not the same thing." I take the coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands. "They think I'm assimilating. Erasing myself to fit into your world."
She flinches. "Are you?"
"No." I set down the cup, take her face in my hands. "I'm adding. You're addition, not subtraction. Everything I was before meeting you, I still am. Just bigger now. Fuller."
"That's what you told them?"
"More or less."
She searches my face. "Did they believe you?"
"They're willing to watch and see. That's as close to approval as elder councils get."
She laughs, shaky but real. Leans into my touch.
"Darius has an idea," I say. "About the hearing. About swinging the fence-sitters."
I explain Rodriguez, the funding, the abstract fear that drives Blair's campaign. I explain the cooking demo, the strategic visibility, the plan to make orc culture real instead of threatening.
Lacy listens, mind working behind her eyes. I can almost see her reorganizing testimony, adjusting approach.
"So we show them normal," she says slowly. "Not exciting or exotic. Just everyday integration."
"Exactly."
"And we start with Rodriguez' people. Let them taste Mara's cooking, see orcs as community members instead of policy problems."
"Worth a shot."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "I love you."
"I know."
"No, I mean..." She steps back, holding my gaze. "I love that you're fighting for this. Not just for us. For your wholecommunity, your culture, your right to exist loudly. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
"Or the stupidest."
"Definitely both." She grins. "But I'm with you anyway. Whatever comes."
We have an hour before the cooking demo. We spend it reviewing testimony, drinking coffee, stealing kisses between note cards.
This is what I'm fighting for. This quiet morning, this ordinary preparation, this choosing each other while the city holds its breath.
At ten-thirty, we head to the market district together.
The demo's already drawing a crowd.
10
LACY
The council chamber smells like floor polish and nervous sweat. I grip my testimony notes so hard the paper crumples at the edges. Outside the building, protestors wave signs. Some support the exchange program. Others demand "Human Jobs for Human Workers" in angry red letters.
