Chapter 5
STONE
Iwake when grey light seeps through her curtains. Lacy sleeps curled against me, hair fanned across my chest. Her breath tickles my collarbone. Warmth floods through me, fierce and protective. I memorize this: her small hand resting on my ribs, the way her mouth softens in sleep.
Moving slow, I extract myself. She stirs, mumbles something. I freeze. She settles back down.
I dress quiet as possible. My boots thud despite my best efforts. In her tiny kitchen, I scribble a note on the back of a receipt.
Gone to find breakfast offerings. Back soon. Your orc.
The city wakes around me. Joggers pass. A bakery exhales cinnamon into the morning air. I find the market district three blocks over, vendors setting up stalls. My target: the flower seller with buckets of blooms.
"Morning, friend." I nod at the elderly woman arranging daisies.
She startles. Recovers. "What can I do for you?"
"Everything." I wave at her entire stock.
Her eyebrows climb. "Everything?"
"Yes. All flowers. Biggest bundle you can make."
She laughs, delighted. "Someone special?"
"The most special." Heat creeps up my neck. I help her gather armfuls. Sunflowers taller than my forearm. Purple wildflowers. Fat pink peonies. White roses. She wraps them in brown paper, the bouquet massive. Unwieldy.
I add two jars of spiced orc jam from my pack. Blackberry-pepper blend I made last week. The labels are hand-drawn, crooked letters spelling "Stone's Preserves."
At Lacy's door, I arrange everything. The flowers tower like a small forest. Jam jars nestle between stems. I add another note on top.
For you. Because you deserve beautiful things. And breakfast that doesn't come from a sad vending machine.
I step back. Admire my work. It's ridiculous. Over the top. Perfect.
The bookstore opens at nine. I arrive at eight-thirty, coffee in each hand. Lacy's already inside, phone pressed to her ear. She spots me through the window. Her smile blazes bright enough to warm my green skin from the outside in.
She waves me in, still talking. "Yes, Aunt Rene. I took your prescription yesterday. No, I won't forget the afternoon dose."
I set the coffees down. Mouth how is she?
Lacy's expression tightens. She covers the phone. "Better. Tired."
Guilt twists my gut. Lacy carries so much. Financial pressure. Aunt Rene's health. This startup dream balanced on a knife's edge. And now me, crashing into her life like a wrecking ball wrapped in good intentions.
She finishes the call. Turns to me. "The flowers."
"Too much?"
"Completely excessive." She steps close. Rises on tiptoes. Kisses me hard. "I loved them."
Relief rushes through me. I pull her against my body. She fits perfectly, head tucked under my chin. "The jam is experimental. Fair warning."
"I trust your terrible cooking experiments."
"Lies. You've never tasted my cooking."
"Your spice crate crushed my awning. That's evidence enough." But she's laughing. The sound fills the shop, bounces off bookshelves.
The door rings. A woman enters, dragging two small children. The kids stare at me, eyes wide. I wave. The boy hides behind his mother's leg.
"We're here for the reading," the mother says, uncertain gaze flickering between Lacy and me.
Lacy brightens. "Perfect timing. Stone, would you mind helping set up the children's corner?"
I salute. "On it, boss."
Twenty minutes later, the store fills with kids. They sprawl on cushions, clutching picture books. Parents hover near the cafe counter, sipping coffee. Lacy coordinates, moving between groups with practiced ease.
She catches my eye. "Stone? Want to read to them?"
Panic flares. "Me?"
"You have the perfect voice for it. Deep. Dramatic."
The children turn toward me. Expectant faces. One girl waves a book featuring a dragon on the cover. I recognize it. The Brave Knight and the Gentle Beast. A pulp fantasy classic Lacy shelves in her "guilty pleasures" section.
I crouch down. The floor creaks under my weight. "You want me to read this one?"
Nods all around. The dragon girl thrusts the book at me.
I settle cross-legged. Open to the first page. The words blur at first. Then I find my rhythm. Lower my voice to a theatrical rumble.
"Once, in a kingdom of stone towers and whispering forests, there lived a knight whose heart was braver than her sword..."
The kids lean in. I add sound effects. Growl when the dragon appears. Whisper during the sneaky scenes. Make my voice soar for the knight's battle cry. The children gasp. Giggle. Shout warnings at the characters.
One boy climbs onto my knee. "Do the dragon again!"
I roar. Gentle enough not to scare, loud enough to thrill. Laughter erupts. Parents smile, phones out, recording.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lacy watching. Her expression melts me. Soft. Fond. Like she's seeing me and liking what she sees.
A flash goes off. I glance up. A woman with a camera and press badge stands near the door. She grins, snaps another photo.
"This is gold," she murmurs to her companion. "Local orc integration project volunteer reads to kids. Heartwarming stuff."
My ears burn. I keep reading, but nerves flutter under my ribs. Publicity could be good. Or dangerous. Councilwoman Blair's warnings from Darius echo. Not everyone wants orcs blending in.
After the reading, kids swarm me. They touch my scars, fascinated. Ask if I eat rocks. If I can lift a car. I answer patiently, showing off the hand-drawn doodles in my ledger when one asks if orcs write.
"This is a poem about soup," I explain, pointing to cramped verses.
"You write about soup?" The dragon girl wrinkles her nose.
"Soup is important. Comfort food. Universal language."
She considers this. Nods solemnly. "My dad makes good soup."
"Then your dad is a wise man."
Lacy joins us, crouching beside me. "Alright, friends. Stone needs a break. Who wants hot chocolate?"
The stampede toward the cafe counter shakes the floorboards. Lacy laughs, standing. Offers me a hand up. I take it, let her pull even though she can't budge my weight. The gesture matters.
"You were amazing," she says.
"I roared at children."
"Exactly. They loved it." She squeezes my hand. "Thank you."
The press photographer approaches. "Mind if I get a quote? For the article?"
Lacy stiffens. I feel her retreat, walls going up. Publicity means scrutiny. Scrutiny means pressure.
I step forward. "What do you want to know?"
The photographer taps her recorder. "How does it feel, being part of the cultural exchange program? Do you think initiatives like this help bridge gaps?"
Big questions. Heavy ones. I choose my words carefully.
"I think people are scared of what they don't know.
Orcs look different. Sound different. But inside?
" I tap my chest. "Same hopes. We want to belong.
Create. Share meals. Tell stories. Programs like this let us prove we're not monsters.
Just neighbors who happen to be green and eat questionable amounts of stew. "
Laughter ripples through nearby parents. The photographer grins. "Perfect. And what about you, Ms. Ellis? How's the partnership working?"
Lacy hesitates. I watch her weigh options. Panic flickers in her eyes. Then she straightens. "Stone's been invaluable. He brings energy and creativity. Plus, the kids adore him. That's what community spaces should do—bring people together."
Diplomatic. Safe. But her hand finds mine again. Squeezes.
The photographer thanks us. Leaves with a cheerful wave. The door dings behind her.
Lacy exhales hard. "That was terrifying."
"You handled it perfectly."
"Did I?" She worries her bottom lip. "What if Blair sees the article? What if she uses it against the festival grant?"
I turn her to face me. Cup her cheek. "Then we'll handle it. Together. Your dream doesn't crumble because one councilwoman has opinions."
She leans into my palm. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not. But you're not alone anymore." The words come out fierce. Protective. True.
Her eyes glisten. She blinks fast. "How did you crash into my life and become essential in three days?"
"Orc magic. Very potent." I kiss her forehead. "Also, I'm excellent at catastrophic first impressions."
She laughs. Wet and shaky. "The awning."
"The awning," I agree solemnly.
We spend the afternoon organizing shelves. Parents trickle out with children clutching new books. The cafe hums with low conversation. I brew coffee under Lacy's instruction, only spilling twice. Improvement.
Darius texts me around three.
Saw the press. Bold move. Blair won't like it.
I show Lacy the message. She pales.
"Maybe we should've declined the interview."
"No." I set my phone down. "Hiding doesn't help. We did nothing wrong. I read to kids. You run an amazing space. If Blair has problems, she can say them to our faces."
Lacy worries the edge of a book spine. "You're braver than me."
"Louder, maybe. Not braver." I pull her close. She smells like vanilla and old paper. Home. "You launched this place from nothing. Took care of your aunt. Survived a breakup that clearly hurt. That's bravery. I just yell at city inspectors and crush awnings."
She snorts into my chest. "Your self-awareness is refreshing."
"I contain multitudes. Mostly awkwardness and good intentions."
We stand there, wrapped together. The bookstore settles around us. Creaking wood. Hum of the espresso machine. Distant traffic.
My phone lights up again. This time, it's the cultural liaison office.
Formal notice: Councilwoman Blair has requested a review of your placement. Report tomorrow, 9 AM.
Ice slides through my veins. Lacy reads over my shoulder. Her grip tightens.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she's making her move." I keep my voice steady. Calm. Even as anger simmers. "Trying to pull me from the program."
"Can she do that?"
"If she manufactures enough concern, maybe." I tuck my phone away. Meet Lacy's gaze. "But I won't go quietly. This placement matters. You matter."
Her eyes shine. "Stone..."