Small. Strong. Covered in jasmine sap.
Junia ducks under my arm and plants herself directly between me and three sledgehammers that could punch through a foundation wall. Her torn overall strap flaps against her shoulder. Potting soil crusts her curls. She is five feet six inches of absolute insanity standing in front of beings that outweigh her by several hundred pounds.
"Move," I growl.
She doesn't move. She squares her shoulders and points one sap-coated finger directly at Valerius's sterile silver lapel.
"Ordinance 4,012, Section C."
Valerius's left eyebrow twitches. Barely. "Yes. Which I just cited. Thank you for your attention."
"Subsection 7."
The eyebrow stops twitching.
"Subsection 7 provides an explicit exemption for load-bearing landscape structures installed as part of an active erosion-mitigation effort. That archway is a retaining keystone for the combined terrace drainage system. Remove it, and the entire hillside behind both properties destabilizes."
Valerius's smile thins to a razor line. "That interpretation is creative."
"That interpretation istextual. Page forty-seven, paragraph three, right between the clause about decorative birdbaths and the one about acceptable mulch coloring. Which you wrote, by the way. July 14th, three years ago. You were very thorough."
Silence. The goons look at Valerius. Valerius looks at Junia. I look at the back of Junia's head and something cracks open inside my ribcage that has nothing to do with combat readiness.
"Furthermore." She steps closer to Valerius. He doesn't retreat, but his nostrils flare. "Ordinance 2,308, the Emergency Grounds Stabilization Act, grants any resident the right to install temporary structural reinforcements during active soil disruption without prior board approval. That root system just tore up three hundred square feet of shared property. The soil is actively disrupted. Right now. As we speak. As your goons stand on it."
The lead goon looks down at his feet. The ground beneath him is, in fact, cracked and heaving with severed root channels.
"The archway stays until the soil is certified stable by a municipal zoning official." Junia crosses her arms.
"Unless you want to override your own bylaws on the record. In front of witnesses." She jerks her chin toward the street. Mrs. Cho from three houses down stands on the sidewalk with her phone raised. Recording. The Hendersons observe from their porch.
Old Barnabus has dragged his rocking chair to the end of his driveway and is eating popcorn. Valerius's jaw works. Grinding. The muscles along his temples cord tight beneath that flawless skin.
"A municipal official."
"Licensed. Bonded. Non-HOA-affiliated."
"Getting the city out here requires a formal inspection request."
"Which is incredibly convenient," Junia smiles. Bright. Infectious. Devastating. "Since
Commissioner Voss is already scheduled to be here for the judging."
Valerius studies her. Then he studies me. His gaze tracks across the sap on my shirt, the bandages on my forearms, the way I stand close enough behind Junia that her wild curls brush me.
"You're making a mistake," he says. Not loud. Not theatrical. Quiet. The kind of quiet that carries more threat than a hundred sledgehammers.
"I'm making a garden."
The elf holds her stare for three full seconds. Then he snaps his fingers. The goons lower their hammers. They turn in unison, heavy feet grinding divots in the sidewalk, and march back toward the idling luxury car.
Valerius lingers. He straightens his cuff. Brushes an invisible speck from his lapel.
"The competition is in forty-eight hours." His eyes flick to me. Cool. Ancient. "I have four centuries of horticulturalmastery, a staff of twelve, and a budget that exceeds your combined property values. Enjoy your archway."
He turns. Walks to his car. The door closes without a sound.
Junia doesn't move until the car rounds the corner. Then her shoulders drop. Her hands shake. She presses them flat against her thighs.
