Page 1 of Sanctuary and Spices

JANI

The plate in my hands trembled as I arranged the final garnish—a delicate sprig of crystalized starbloom that cost more than I made in a month. My vision blurred at the edges. When had I last slept? Three days ago? Four?

The kitchen’s heat pressed against my skin, wringing more sweat from my already drained body. Around me, the pristine surfaces of the Celestial Crown’s galley gleamed with cold perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. Stim-patches itched against my neck, the only thing keeping me upright through this seven-course diplomatic nightmare.

“Chef Crayle.” My sous chef hovered at my elbow. “They’re sending back the Nebula Foam. Again.”

The sprig slipped from my fingers. I caught it before it could mar the perfect surface of the dish, but something inside me cracked. Three times. They’d sent it back three times.

“What’s wrong with it now?” The words scraped past my dry throat.

“The Aurenai ambassador says it lacks harmony.”

Harmony. Three days without sleep. Three days of precise measurements, of molecular gastronomy pushed to its limits.Three days of balancing flavors so rare most humans never tasted them once in their lives.

I set down the plate with precise care. “Watch the line.”

“Chef?”

My fingers trembled as I stared at the dish, my reflection distorted in its polished surface. Three days without sleep. Three days of balancing on a knife’s edge. The words “lacks harmony” echoed in my skull, over and over, like a mocking chant.

I knew I should stay in the kitchen. Stay professional. Let the maître d’ handle the complaint, as we always did. But something inside me had reached its breaking point, a pressure that had been building for years.

I took a step toward the dining room doors, then paused, my hand hovering over the swinging panel.This is a mistake.My pulse pounded against my temples. My father’s voice echoed in my memory:Control the emotion, Jani. The kitchen is no place for weakness.

My body screamed for rest, every step heavier than the last, but something inside me—maybe pride, maybe desperation—forced me through the door.

The Celestial Crown’s grand hall stretched before me, all polished surfaces and soft lighting designed to flatter the golden skin of our Aurenai guests.

I’d never stepped foot in here during service. Never. That’s not what head chefs did. We stayed in our domain, letting the food speak for itself.

The ambassador’s table fell silent as I approached. Six pairs of gleaming gold eyes turned to me, and their metallic skin seemed to ripple in the light.

“Is there a problem with the foam, Ambassador?” My voice came out steady. Too steady.

The ambassador dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Ah, the chef herself. Yes, I’m afraid the molecular structure simply lacks the proper?—”

“Harmony. So I heard.” I picked up his rejected dish. “You know what lacks harmony? Working three days straight on stims to create a menu that honors both Aurenai and human culinary traditions. What lacks harmony is spending thousands of credits on ingredients I can barely afford to touch, only to have them sent back because the molecular structure doesn’t sing to you.”

The silence in the room grew heavier. At the corner of my vision, I saw the maître d’ moving toward me, but I was beyond caring.

I pulled out my plating tool. “Let me show you harmony.”

With surgical precision, I deconstructed the dish. The foam separated into its component parts—drops of essence, suspended flavors, carefully crafted textures. I arranged them in a spiral, a visual representation of the culinary mathematics I’d spent days perfecting.

“This.” I pointed to each element. “This is harmony. This is art. This is science. This is respect for both our cultures translated into food. But you wouldn’t know that, because you’re too busy expecting the impossible to appreciate what’s possible.”

My voice had risen.

When had I started shouting? The maître d’ touched my arm, but I shrugged him off.

A movement caught my eye—my own reflection in the polished dome of a serving cover. My hair had escaped its bun, dark circles stood out under my eyes, and something wild lurked in my expression that I barely recognized.

Oh God. What was I doing?

The ambassador’s skin rippled again, but this time I recognized it as discomfort. The entire room stared at me in horror. Years of work, of climbing the ranks, of provingmyself...all destroyed in one moment of exhaustion-fueled madness.

I set down my plating tool with shaking hands. “I...”

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