Page 21 of Mane Rival in Store

Lark: Conflicted like I’m winning a game I didn’t agree to play and the other player doesn’t know the rules.

Breezy: She turned down a news segment because it was unfair to him.

Sybil: …

Sybil: Lark.

Lark: DON’T.

Sybil: You turned down free press to protect a man who wrote you a noise complaint.

Lark: He didn’t send it. I turned down biased coverage because I have journalistic ethics.

Breezy: You sell villain lipstick. You don’t have journalistic ethics. You have a crush.

Lark: I’M LEAVING THIS CHAT.

Sybil: You won’t. You need us. Also, has his hair done the thing again?

Lark pocketed her phone. Through the glass gap, she could see the Sterling & Mane floor. Quieter than usual. The article had done its damage—the “museum” framing was keeping casual browsers away, leaving only the committed collectors who already knew the store’s value.

Rune stood behind the counter. Still. Contained. He didn’t look angry. He looked alone.

The knot in her chest pulled tighter.

EIGHT

RUNE

The article was fine.

The article was fine. His PR team had delivered a measured statement. The brand positioning was consistent. Sterling & Mane did not need lifestyle blog approval to maintain its market position. The collector base was loyal. The authentication reputation was unimpeachable. A twelve-hundred-word puff piece on CultureVault changed nothing of substance.

He read the comments section for forty-seven minutes.

The office door opened after the store closed. Dekel stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand, watching Rune scroll through a comment thread debating whether Sterling & Mane was “elitist” or “aspirational” with the focused intensity of a man performing emotional archaeology on his own public image.

“Stop reading the comments.”

“I’m conducting market research.”

“You’re conducting self-harm via internet strangers.” Dekel flipped the office light on. Rune blinked. “The store’s closed. Gerald called to place a consignment order, so we haven’t lost him. The foot traffic dip is temporary—people will stop caring about the article by Thursday. Go home.”

“Her quote was good.”

Dekel paused in the doorway.

“Her quote was good,” Rune repeated, setting the tablet facedown on his desk. “Accessible. Witty. She made her store sound like an invitation and ours sound like a mausoleum, and she did it in two sentences.” He rubbed his jaw. “My statement sounded like a legal filing.”

“Your statement sounded like your PR team wrote it because they did. Because you wouldn’t take the call yourself.”

“I don’t do press interviews.”

“You don’t do press interviews because you freeze up and start talking about testing protocols. I know. I’ve watched it happen. But that’s the problem—she gave them Lark, and you gave them a spokesperson.” Dekel leaned against the doorframe. “She’s not your rival, Rune. She’s your contrast. And right now, the contrast is making you look like a statue.”

Rune stared at the blank tablet screen. His reflection stared back—a man in a dark suit, tie loosened, jaw tight, sitting in an office that smelled like preservation chemicals and old paper while the store next door hummed with music and laughter and a woman who made the world lean toward her by being unapologetically alive.

A statue.