"Maybe," I say. Can't lie to her. Won't start now. "But we're going to lose together. If we lose."
She doesn't answer right away. Just breathes. Her fingers clutch at my shirt—the one I wore because she said once she liked the color. Stupid detail to remember now. But I remember everything about her.
Then she pulls back slowly. Wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. The gesture is angry. Like she's mad at her own tears.
"I hate this," she says.
"I know."
"I hate feeling helpless. Like I'm just—waiting for the hammer to fall and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
"I know."
"I hate that they're winning. That Janelle gets to walk away from this smiling while we're—" She gestures vaguely at the empty café. The scattered papers. The ghost of what our petition was supposed to be.
"They haven't won yet," I tell her. Mean it. "Still standing. Still here."
She looks at me. Studies my face like she's trying to find something there. Some sign I'm lying or just being stubborn. Then something shifts. Some of the fight returns to her eyes. Not all of it. Not the bright, fierce thing it usually is. But enough.
"What do we do?" she asks.
"We figure out our next move. We regroup. We find another way to show the council what this place means. What all the rowhouse businesses mean."
"And if there isn't another way?"
"Then we make one." I say it simple. Because it is. "Not giving up because one plan failed. That's not who you are."
She takes a shaky breath. Her chest rises and falls. Then she nods.
"Okay," she says. "Okay. We can do this. Right? We can figure something out."
"We can."
The kitten, Pebble, she named it, after some sea creature, jumps onto the counter with a soft thump. Meows plaintively. The sound is demanding. Entitled. Like the world's smallest tyrant.
Maris laughs. It's watery but genuine. The kind of laugh that happens when you need it most.
"Even the cat thinks we're pathetic," she says.
"The cat thinks everything is pathetic. Especially us."
"Fair point." She reaches over. Scratches behind its ears. The kitten purrs. Closes its eyes like it's granting her a royal favor.
She feeds the kitten. I watch her move through the familiar motions. The doubt is still there. I can see it in the set of her shoulders. The tightness around her eyes.
But she's still moving. Still fighting.
That's what matters.
Outside, the sun climbs higher. The day begins.
And somewhere in a gleaming office, Janelle is probably celebrating her victory.
Not for long, I promise silently.
Not for long.
CHAPTER 9
