The gallery's packed. Every seat filled, people standing along the back wall. I recognize faces from the week of pop-ups: the teacher who bought three pottery cups, the couple who came to all five locations, Mr. Harrington sitting front row with his lawyer.
Councilwoman Blair sits at the long table up front, her expression carved from ice. The other four council members look various shades of tired and thoughtful.
"All rise for the Honorable Mayor Chen."
We stand. The mayor enters, a small woman with steel-gray hair and reading glasses on a chain. She takes her seat, surveys the room with the kind of calm that comes from seeing every type of municipal drama imaginable.
"We're here to vote on Resolution 847, the continuation and potential expansion of the Cultural Exchange Pilot Program."Her voice carries without shouting. "We've received public comment, testimony, and considerable attention this past month. Today we vote."
My stomach clenches. Tess squeezes my hand.
Blair speaks first, her arguments polished and familiar. Safety concerns. Cultural friction. The need for clear boundaries between human and non-human commerce. She cites the viral clip, the initial backlash, the worry about setting precedents.
I want to scream that she's describing fear, not facts, but I stay quiet.
Councilman Rodriguez goes next, and my chest loosens slightly. "I've reviewed the incident reports. Zero safety violations. Zero complaints filed against program participants. What I see is fearmongering dressed up as caution."
Blair's jaw tightens.
Councilwoman Park speaks, measured and thoughtful. "I attended one of Mr. Venn's community events. What I witnessed was extraordinary engagement, cultural exchange done right. But I do share concerns about oversight. We need structure."
That's not a no. I breathe.
The debate continues, back and forth, parsing details about funding and guidelines and metrics for success. I lose track of the procedural language, focus instead on reading faces, trying to predict which way this tips.
Then Mr. Harrington stands. "May I address the council?"
Mayor Chen nods. "You have three minutes."
He walks to the podium, no notes, just his hands gripping the edges. "I funded Councilwoman Blair's position because I believed separation was safer. I was wrong." His voice doesn't waver. "This week I witnessed integration that honored both cultures without erasing either. I saw my city become richer, not diluted. And I was reminded that fear makes us smaller while curiosity makes us whole."
He looks directly at Blair. "I'm withdrawing my support for your campaign and endorsing the program's continuation. Furthermore, I'm establishing a grant fund specifically for cross-cultural small business partnerships."
The room erupts. Blair's face drains of color. Tess grips my hand so hard I lose feeling in my fingers.
Mayor Chen gavels for order. "Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Council, are we ready to vote?"
They are.
It goes down the line. Rodriguez, yes. Park, yes with amendments. Councilman Wu, yes. Councilwoman Santos, yes.
Blair votes no, her voice clipped and furious.
Four to one.
The program continues.
I don't remember standing, but suddenly I'm on my feet with everyone else, the chamber filled with applause and shouts and Aunt Rene crying into a tissue. Tess hugs me so hard my ribs ache.
Across the aisle, Stone's surrounded by his delegation, Darius pounding his back, the orc elders clasping his shoulders. His eyes find mine, and the smile that breaks across his face is pure joy.
We won.
We actually won.
Outside the chambers, the sidewalk's chaos. Press shoving microphones, supporters celebrating, a few protesters shouting about slippery slopes and lost traditions. Tess steers me through it with practiced efficiency, Aunt Rene tucked under her other arm.
Stone catches up to us at the corner, breathless. "Lacy."
