Buying a warehouse, Glad discovered, involved approximately 47 times more paperwork than accidentally becoming a viral sensation.
"Sign here, initial here, confirm your species here, waive your right to eat the seller here—"
"I would never—"
"Standard form. Don't take it personally."
By the end of the week, she was the proud owner of a dilapidated building near the boulevard, a mountain of permits, and a construction crew composed of humans, creatures, and one very confused architect who'd never worked with "non-standard clients" before.
"The ceiling needs to accommodate wing spans of up to 15 feet," Kim explained during the planning meeting. "The bathroom stalls need to fit various body types—some of our members shift unexpectedly. And we need a blood kitchen with proper refrigeration."
The architect, a patient woman named Architect Alma, nodded steadily. "I've designed for disabilities before. This is just... different disabilities."
"Exactly! Different abilities!"
The creature community threw themselves into the renovation with enthusiasm. Kapres lifted heavy beams. Duwende handled intricate wiring (they were small enough to fit in tight spaces). A team of tiyanak painted walls with surprising skill, pausing only to occasionally cry like human babies and terrify the human construction workers.
"Sorry," their leader apologized. "It's a reflex. We're working on it."
Glad found herself supervising, coordinating, and occasionally flying up to fix things humans couldn't reach. It was exhausting. It was chaotic. It was the most fulfilling thing she'd ever done.
Ariel visited every day, often bringing snacks from Ben's blood bakery. "You're doing something amazing," he told her, watching the building transform. "A safe space for creatures. I never thought I'd see it."
"Neither did I. But here we are."
"Here we are." He paused. "Glad, I've been meaning to ask—"
A crash interrupted them. A kapre had accidentally put his fist through a wall.
"I'M FINE! EVERYTHING'S FINE! JUST... WALL PROBLEMS!"
Glad sighed. "We should help."
"Yeah. Later, though?" Ariel looked at her meaningfully. "Can we talk later?"
"About what?"
"About... us."
Glad's heart—which could stop beating for up to three hours—skipped a beat anyway.
"Sure. Later. Definitely."
They spent the rest of the day fixing walls, installing lights, and pretending the conversation hadn't happened.
But that night, flying home with Anino on her shoulder, Glad couldn't stop thinking about it.
Us.
There was an "us."
When had that happened?
Anino purred, clearly amused.
"Stop judging me," Glad muttered.
Anino purred louder.