The Price of Belonging

The orange notice was a jagged wound against the shop’s weathered brick, a fluorescent declaration that the city had finally decided to excise this block. Leo stood on the sidewalk, the cold wind biting through his blazer, his eyes locked on the bold, impersonal type: Notice of Intent to Demolish. It wasn't just a threat; it was a forty-eight-hour countdown to the wrecking ball.

"The city doesn't negotiate with ghosts, Leo," Mrs. Fong said. She stood in the doorway, her cane anchoring her to the threshold like a sentinel. She didn't look at t

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