"Commissioner Voss. Flynn Danger, 4714 Cedarbrook Estates. I have photographic evidence of large-scale plant theft affecting twelve households in this subdivision. The stolen specimens are currently housed in the community greenhouse on HOA common land. I'm forwarding the documentation now."
He taps send. The phone makes a small whoosh sound. Valerius flinches at it like a gunshot.
Three minutes pass. Nobody moves. Flynn stands with his arms crossed, phone in one hand, still shirtless, still caked in dried mud and golem residue, looking like a statue someone carved out of anger and patience. Valerius checks his watch. Checks it again. His foot starts tapping.
Voss's sedan rounds the corner at exactly the speed limit. Behind it, a municipal enforcement van with tinted windows. Behind that, two more.
The convoy parks. Voss steps out holding her clipboard in one hand and Flynn's printed photos in the other. She's already arranged them in chronological order. Of course she has.
"Mr. Valerius."
"Commissioner, this is a misunderstanding."
"Section 14-B. Subsection C. Willful misappropriation of residential botanical assets for competitive advantage." She doesn't look up from the clipboard. "Additionally, Section 22: deployment of unauthorized magical constructs on residential property." A pause. "The earth golem registered on three separate seismic monitors this morning."
Two officers step out of the enforcement van. They're not large, but they carry themselves with the specific energy of people who have dealt with HOA presidents before and are very tired of it.
"This is absurd. I am the president of this association. I have rights. I have legal counsel. I have..."
"Handcuffs in your immediate future." Voss clicks her pen. "Scores are final. Properties 4712 and 4714 Cedarbrook Estates receive a combined rating of 100. Highest in subdivision history."
The number doesn't register at first. It sits in the air like something too big to hold.
One hundred.
Perfect score.
I grab Flynn's arm. His bicep is rigid under my grip, tension locked in every fiber. Then the number lands. His arm softens.
"We won."
"We won."
The officers guide Valerius into the back of the van. His platinum braid catches the sunlight one last time before the door closes. The lock engages with a heavy, satisfying click.
Flynn looks down at me. Mud on his jaw. Golem dust in his hair. Eyes bright and burning gold.
"Your snapdragons weren't staked."
"No."
"They scored a hundred anyway."
"They scored a hundredbecause."
The first casserole arrives eleven minutes after the enforcement van turns the corner.
Mrs. Patterson carries it across the street in oven mitts shaped like lobster claws, her rescued dahlias tucked under one arm in a terracotta pot trailing roots and dirt. She sets the casserole on Flynn's precision-cut lawn edge and is now a mud shelf, and she hugs me so hard my spine pops in three places.
"That elf stole my grandmother's dahlias. Thirty-seven years of cultivar development. Gone overnight."
"They're back now."
"They'rebacknow." She pulls away, eyes wet, and shoves the casserole into Flynn's hands. "Tuna noodle. Extra cheese. You earned it."
Flynn holds the casserole like it might detonate. His fingers curl carefully around the warm ceramic edges and his brow furrows and I see him try to process a woman giving him food for no tactical reason.
"Thank you," he manages. Stiff. Formal. Like he's accepting a commendation.
