I want to believe her. Pull her close instead, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the certainty she carries so much easier than I do.
Day one, the business district.
I park the van on the corner Tess scouted, the lunch crowd already building from office towers. Darius and two other orcs help me set up folding tables, the banner Lacy designed strung between poles: "Orc Food & Stories - Free Lunch, Free Truth."
The menu's simple: roasted vegetable wraps with fire spice aioli, the berry bread cut into sample squares, tea served in compostable cups. Everything finger-friendly, easy to eat standing, designed to lower barriers.
"Free?" A human man in a suit stops, suspicious. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just want you to try orc food that isn't filtered through fear." I hand him a wrap, watch him bite cautious, then his eyebrows rise.
"This is really good."
"Thanks. My grandmother's recipe. She'd be mortified I'm giving it away instead of selling."
He laughs, takes another bite, lingers. Others approach, drawn by the smell and the growing crowd. I serve and talk, answering questions about ingredients and culture and yes, that viral clip, explaining context until my voice goes hoarse.
Mara sets up beside the van with her drum, tapping out rhythms between lunch rushes, sometimes singing low orc ballads that make people pause mid-bite.
Midday, I spot him. The donor, Blair's financial backer. Human, late fifties, expensive coat, the kind of careful grooming that screams old money and older opinions. He stands at the crowd's edge, watching with the expression of someone examining a curiosity.
My heart kicks hard. This is the target, the moveable piece Darius mentioned. The man whose money fuels Blair's campaign and whose change of heart could shift the whole council.
I catch Darius's eye, tip my head slightly. He nods, understanding.
"Try the bread." I approach with a sample plate, keeping my voice friendly-casual, non-threatening. "It's sweet, not spicy. Good for skeptics."
The donor takes a piece, mechanical, eyes still assessing. "You're the one from the clip."
"Yeah. Also the one from last night's reading, if you stayed long enough."
"I didn't." He bites, chews, and something in his face shifts. "This is exceptional."
"My people have been baking it for generations. Celebration food, usually. But I figure introducing ourselves calls for celebration." I gesture to the crowd, humans and orcs mixing easy, sharing tables, laughing over spice levels. "We're not scary. Just different. And different can be good if you give it a chance."
"Councilwoman Blair believes different is dangerous."
"Councilwoman Blair profits from fear. You profit from what, exactly? What does keeping us separate actually gain?"
His eyes sharpen. "Stability. Predictability. Social cohesion."
"Funny. This looks pretty cohesive to me." I nod toward a human teenager showing an orc kid how to fold his wrap to prevent dripping, both of them laughing at the mess. "And that happened without anyone needing to be afraid first."
He doesn't respond, but he doesn't leave either. Stays for twenty minutes, watching, eating a second piece of bread when he thinks I'm not looking.
When he finally walks away, he takes one of my chapbooks from the free pile.
Day two, the university quad.
Students are easier, younger, less calcified in their fears. We set up near the library, and within an hour we're swarmed. I recruit volunteers from the crowd to help serve, teaching themorc hospitality rituals, the specific way to offer tea that signals respect and welcome.
A professor of anthropology stops by, asks pointed questions about cultural preservation versus assimilation. I answer honest: "I'm not erasing myself. I'm adding human understanding to who I already am. There's room for both."
She nods thoughtful, returns later with her whole seminar class. They interview willing orcs and humans both, recording stories about integration and identity, the messy complicated truth of living between worlds.
Lacy shows up at three with Tess, both carrying poster board and markers. "Thought you could use some visual aids."
Together we create a display: photos from the reading night, quotes from attendees, side-by-side comparisons of the edited clip versus the full footage Tess managed to obtain. The difference is stark, undeniable.
