"We counter it. Public statement. Social media. Show people the real documents, the truth. Turn the narrative around."
"And if they don't believe us?"
Her pen stills. She looks up.
"Then we make them want to believe us. Show them who you really are. Not the scary orc squatter. The guy who saves kittens. Who helps at the café. Who's part of this community."
"I'm not good at that," I say. Admitting it tastes bitter. "People stuff. Social things. I mess it up."
"So we practice." She taps the pen against her lips. Thinking. "We host an event. Here. At the café. Invite everyone. Show them you belong."
My chest tightens. "Like a party?"
"Like a fundraiser. We say it's to support local businesses affected by development pressure. Which is true. But really it's about proving community support. Getting people on our side before Vance can twist the story further."
The idea makes my skin itch. All those people. Watching. Judging. Looking for reasons to believe the lies.
But Maris's eyes are bright. Focused. She believes this will work.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"We do the fundraiser. I'll try. The people thing."
Her smile breaks wide. Real. "We'll practice first. I'll teach you."
"Teach me what?"
"Charm." She says it like it's simple. Like charm is something you learn instead of something you're born with.
I stare at her.
She stares back.
"Maris, I don't think?—"
"Nope. We're doing this. Starting now." She comes around the counter. Points to a chair. "Sit."
I sit. Chair creaks under my weight.
She stands in front of me. Arms crossed. Studying me like I'm a puzzle she's determined to solve.
"First rule," Maris says, and there's a brightness in her voice that sounds like hope. Dangerous thing, hope. "Smile."
I pull my lips back. Show her what passes for pleasant.
Her expression shifts. Not quite horror. Close enough.
"Not like that." She waves a hand between us, like she's erasing something in the air. "Like you're actually happy to see someone. You know. Welcoming."
"I am happy." The words come out defensive. Rough. "This is what happy looks like."
"That's..." She pauses. Searches for the word. Finds it. "Terrifying. That's absolutely terrifying. Try softer. Less teeth. Maybe a lot less teeth."
I make the attempt. Pull the corners of my mouth up. Keep my tusks hidden behind my lips as much as anatomy allows. The muscles in my face protest. This isn't an expression they're used to holding.
She winces. Actually winces. Like I've done something painful to look at.
