“Okay,” she said. “Let’s assume the council drags its feet. What’s Plan B that doesn’t ask for favors from Mark and doesn’t burn you out?”

“You sure you want to stay?” she asked without asking, handing him the towel. The words were ordinary—calculated so the underlying question could hang in the air without demanding an answer. She knew what he’d say. She also knew what he wouldn’t.

“I still hate that we have to do this,” Cary said. His voice was small. “Feels like giving up on the dream.”

“We advertise tonight,” she decided. “Short-term. Furnished. Pictures. We ask for references, run credit—do the damned thing properly.”