But here, these strangers are helping me. Not because they owe me anything. Not because they're afraid of me.
Because they care about Maris. And somehow, that extends to caring about me too.
"Thank you," I say.
Renna waves it off. "Save the gratitude for after we pull this off."
The rehearsal is a disaster.
We're in the alley behind the café, running through the plan one more time. Tick plays the part of a security guard. The librarians are timing entrances and exits. The tech kid is testing some kind of signal jammer.
I'm supposed to walk in, blend with the catering staff, and wait for Renna's signal.
Except I can't blend.
I knock over a prop table within thirty seconds. Trip on a cable the tech kid laid out. Accidentally elbow one of the librarians in the shoulder when I turn too fast.
"Stop moving like you're about to fight something," Renna hisses. "You're a waiter. Be invisible."
"I can't be invisible," I say, spreading my hands. "Look at me. I'm twice the size of any human waiter they'll have there. My skin is the wrong color. My teeth—" I bare them without thinking, and Tick actually takes a step back. "See? I can't just disappear into the background."
"Then don't try to disappear," Renna counters, circling me like she's sizing up a problem she needs to solve. "Be charming instead. Smile at people. Nod when they talk. Act like you should be there, like you belong in that fancy ballroom just as much as any of those pearl-clutching society types."
I try. I really do. I turn toward Tick, soften my expression, and attempt what I hope is a pleasant smile, the kind I've seen Maris give her customers when they compliment her scones.
Tick's eyes widen. He actually flinches, stumbling backward like I've just snarled and lunged at him.
"Not like that," Renna groans, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Softer. Way softer. Less... predatory. You look like you're about to eat him."
I let the smile drop, jaw tightening. My shoulders hunch forward.
This is hopeless.
I'mhopeless.
I sink down onto the edge of the prop table, head in my hands. The tuxedo pulls tight across my shoulders, a reminder that I don't fit here. Never will.
"Hey." Renna sits next to me. Her voice is quieter now. Less drill sergeant, more something almost kind. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to show up."
"What if I ruin it?"
"Then we'll improvise." She shrugs. "Plans fall apart. That's life. What matters is that you're trying."
I pull the cigar tin from my pocket. Open it. The button sits on top, catching the light.
I glance up at her. She's watching the tin, head tilted slightly, curiosity plain on her face. Not prying, just present. Waiting.
"A reminder," I say slowly, turning the tin over in my palm. The metal is warm now, worn smooth from years of being carried close. "That I've been through worse than this. Survived things that should have broken me." I pause, fingers tracing the dented edge. "And if I survived those... I can survive a room full of fancy humans staring at me like I'm some kind of curiosity."
Renna nods, doesn't push. Just sits there beside me, solid and steady.
"Of what, exactly?" she asks after a moment, voice soft. "What's in there that reminds you of all that?"
I close the tin. "That I survived worse than a gala. And I'll survive this too."
The note takesme three hours to write. Maybe longer. I lose track after the first dozen drafts, each one worse than the last.
I start with something simple, something safe.Maris, I'm sorry.
