Marron soon learned that running a coalition of desperate people had a way of compounding itself. She learned this over the past three days, while she read through the list of vendors who needed partnerships.

There's always something. A story, a complication, or a reason why a 'normal' solution wasn't enough.

One vendor had specialized equipment that required extra insurance. Another worked exclusively with a rare ingredient that needed particular storage conditions. A third had dietary restrictions so specific that potential partner chefs worried about liability.

As Marron burned through the midnight oil, she laughed at herself.

"With how much studying I've been doing, I might've had a career in law."

Culinary law, but law nonetheless.

They'd solved most of them. Twelve chefs now, with the last few partnerships being finalized. Forty-seven vendors secured out of fifty.

Three left. And eight days remaining.

Marron was making her rounds through the street market—checking in with vendors, answering questions about paperwork, generally trying to project confidence she didn't entirely feel—when she found Arrow.

The owl-kin was sitting behind her bread cart, staring at a basket with the kind of quiet despair that made Marron's chest ache. Arrow was perhaps in her early twenties, with soft gray-brown feathers and enormous amber eyes that currently looked suspiciously damp. Her cart was modest but tidy: a small oven, display racks for various breads, hand-lettered signs in careful script.

"Arrow?" Marron approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. Owl-kin had excellent hearing but sometimes got lost in their own thoughts. "Everything okay?"

Arrow looked up, and those amber eyes were definitely wet. She blinked rapidly, feathers ruffling in what might have been embarrassment. "Oh. Ms. Louvel. I'm fine. Just... thinking."

"About the decree?"

"About bread." Arrow gestured at the basket—it was full of loaves that looked slightly darker than the others on display, the crusts perhaps a shade too firm. "Yesterday's batch. I overbaked them slightly. The crust is too hard, the inside is too dry. They won't sell."

Marron looked at the bread. It wasn't burned, just... less than perfect. The kind of minor mistake that wouldn't matter to most customers but that a perfectionist baker would notice immediately. "Can't you discount them?"

"I tried. People won't buy day-old bread even discounted, not when they can get fresh." Arrow's voice was soft, defeated. "And I can't afford to just throw them away, but I also can't..." She trailed off, looking down at her taloned hands. "I can't eat them. It feels wrong. Like admitting defeat."

There was more going on here than just bread, Marron realized. Arrow's feathers were slightly unkempt, her cart showed signs of stress—supplies not quite organized, a cleaning rag wadded up instead of folded. The owl-kin was running on fumes.

"When did you last eat?" Marron asked gently.

Arrow's silence was answer enough.

"Okay." Marron made a decision. "Give me that bread and show me where you keep your cooking supplies. I'm making you lunch."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm not asking." Marron softened her tone. "Arrow, you're one of the three vendors we haven't partnered yet. That's because you're being too polite to push, which means you're slipping through the cracks. So let me help. Starting with making sure you eat something."

Arrow hesitated, then nodded slowly. "There's a prep area behind the cart. I have a small stove, some basic ingredients..."

"Perfect. Come on."

The prep area was cramped but functional—a single burner, a few pots and pans, a small coldbox with basic supplies. Marron assessed what was available: onions, some cheese, a bit of butter, herbs, and what looked like beef broth in a sealed jar.

And the basket of day-old bread, of course.

"Do you have a small oven-safe bowl?" Marron asked. "Or a deep pot with a lid?"

"Both." Arrow produced them from a cabinet, still looking uncertain. "What are you making?"

"French onion soup." Marron set the copper pot on the burner—her Legendary Tool, the one that had taught her patience. She'd been carrying it with her more often lately, finding comfort in its steady presence. "And you're going to help me, because you need something to do with your hands that isn't worrying."

Arrow's feathers ruffled again, but she moved to stand beside Marron. "What do you need?"

"Slice these onions. Thin as you can manage." Marron handed over three onions and a knife. "While you do that, I'm going to explain why your day-old bread is perfect for this dish."

"It's stale."

"Exactly." Marron started warming the copper pot, adding a generous amount of butter. The pot heated slowly—it always did, teaching patience even when she was in a hurry. "Stale bread is ideal for French onion soup. It soaks up the broth without falling apart. Fresh bread would get soggy and disintegrate. But day-old bread? It becomes the foundation. The best part."

Arrow sliced onions with the careful precision of someone who worked with her hands professionally. "I've never made French onion soup."

"It's mostly waiting," Marron said. "Which is appropriate, because that's what we're all doing right now. Waiting for paperwork to process, waiting for the deadline, waiting to see if this plan actually works." She added the sliced onions to the now-hot butter in the copper pot. "But while we wait, we can still make something good."

The onions began to sizzle, releasing their sharp, sweet aroma. Marron stirred them gently, watching as they started to soften. The copper pot maintained perfect heat—not so hot that the onions would burn, but hot enough to encourage caramelization.

"This takes about thirty minutes," Marron explained. "We're going to slowly caramelize these onions until they're deep golden brown. Can't rush it. Can't shortcut it. Just... patience and attention."

Arrow watched the onions with those enormous amber eyes. "Thirty minutes just for onions?"

"Thirty minutes to build flavor." Marron kept stirring, the repetitive motion soothing. "That's what caramelization is—drawing out the natural sugars, deepening the taste. Quick-cooked onions are sharp, almost harsh. But slow-cooked onions? They're sweet, complex, rich. Worth the wait."

They worked in companionable silence for a while, Marron stirring the onions, Arrow occasionally helping or just watching. The prep area filled with the smell of butter and caramelizing alliums, warm and homey.

"Can I ask you something?" Arrow said finally, her soft voice barely audible over the sizzle. "Why are you doing all this? The partnerships, the showcase, fighting the Merchant's Guild. You're Guild-certified. You could just... be a chef. Live your life."

Marron had been asked variations of this question a lot lately. By Kira, by vendors, by herself in quiet moments. The answer was always the same, but saying it out loud still felt vulnerable.

"Because it's wrong," she said simply. "The decree. The exploitation. The idea that street vendors don't deserve protection or respect just because they work out of carts instead of buildings." She gestured around Arrow's modest prep area. "You make good bread, Arrow. I've tasted it. It's honest, well-crafted, made with care. The Merchant's Guild wants to shut you down or force you into partnerships that would steal most of your profit. That's not about hygiene or standards. It's about control."

"But you're risking so much—"

"I'm risking my reputation, maybe." Marron checked the onions—they were starting to turn golden, the sharp smell mellowing into something richer. "You're risking your livelihood. Your business. Everything you've built. That's not comparable."

Arrow's feathers ruffled, and this time it was definitely emotion. "I'm one of three vendors left without a partnership. I keep thinking... maybe I waited too long. Maybe I should have accepted one of those restaurant offers, even with the bad terms. At least I'd still have my cart."

"You still have your cart," Marron said firmly. "And you're going to keep it. I just need to find you a chef partner, and I have eight days to do it."

"What if you can't?"

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