"If I stay?—"
"We fight. Together. Like adults. Like partners."
Partners.
The word sits strange in my mouth. Foreign. Fragile.
"I don't know how to do that," I admit.
"Neither do I." She smiles. Small. Sad. Real. "Guess we'll figure it out."
The kitten meows from the windowsill. Demanding attention. Demanding dinner.
Maris laughs. Watery but genuine.
"See? Pebble agrees. You're staying."
I look at her. At the café. At the kitten.
At the good things.
The ones I always thought I'd have to run from to keep safe.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"I'll stay. We'll fight."
She nods. Lets out a breath she's been holding.
Then reaches up and touches my face. Palm against my cheek. Thumb brushing the scar near my temple.
"Thank you," she whispers.
For what, I want to ask. For not running? For being here? For wanting her enough to risk everything falling apart?
But she's looking at me like the answer's obvious. Like staying is the bravest thing I could do.
Maybe it is.
Maris's hand on my cheek feels like a brand. Hot. Permanent. The kind of mark that doesn't wash off.
I step back. Not because I want to, but because if I don't, I'll do something stupid. Pull her close. Press my forehead to hers. Tell her things I don't have words for yet.
"We should plan," I say. Voice rough. "Figure out the fight."
She nods. Drops her hand. Wipes it on her apron like she needs something to do with it now that it's not touching me.
"Right. Plan. Yes." She moves to the counter. Grabs a notepad and pen. Clicks the pen three times. "Okay. So. Vance is claiming fraud. We prove you're legitimate."
"How?"
"Documentation. The original deed transfer. Receipts. Witnesses who saw you move in. We build a paper trail that's impossible to fake."
I gaze at her while she writes. Small, neat letters marching down the page in organized rows. She underlines twice. Circles something. Adds a star.
"What about the forum post?" I ask.
