Page 11 of Sanctuary and Spices

Their relentless enthusiasm formed an odd backdrop to my thoughts. It wasn’t the Crown’s silence. It was better.

“Goodnight!” Pix called. “Try not to worry about the humming. It’s probably fine!”

Probably fine. Like fleeing the Crown. Like taking this job. Like starting over. The Velthryn ivy plant stretched toward me again as I readied for bed, its leaves catching the faint crystal light. I brushed a fingertip over its soft edges, and for a moment, it felt like the plant responded to my touch—leaning into me as if it understood something I didn’t. The plants on this station felt alive in a way I couldn’t explain, like they carried whispers of the people who cared for them.

And then, unbidden, my thoughts drifted to Ronhar. There was something steady about him, unshaken, like he carried the weight of the station’s calm within him. I didn’t know why, but I felt drawn to him—like the garden wasn’t the only thing calling me back.

RONHAR

The early cycle lit the café’s garden in waves of artificial light, each beam catching the delicate shimmer of the Jhyra as they stirred—out of sync with their natural cycle. I moved among the plants, my hands brushing over their leaves to ground myself in their steady energy. But my focus slipped, my thoughts lingering elsewhere. On her.

I felt her presence before I saw her. The plants shifted subtly, their stems bending toward the doorway in a way that I’d never seen before she arrived. It wasn’t just the plants, though. There was something about her—an energy, perhaps, or a quiet pull—that I couldn’t quite name.

The door slid open, and Jani stepped into view. She was wearing civilian clothes today, the casual outfit softer than the chef whites she’d worn before. It suited her—relaxed, approachable. The fabric moved with her in a way that caught my attention before I forced myself to look away.

“Morning,” she said, her tone light but curious. “Everything okay?”

I turned to face her, keeping a deliberate distance. “We need to talk.”

Her posture shifted slightly, her shoulders straightening. There was always strength in her stance, even when she didn’t realize it. “About?”

“Supply run.” I moved between the workstations, pretending to focus on logistics. “We’re low on key ingredients. There’s an important event coming up.”

“And this requires a dramatic pre-dawn conversation because...?” Her dry tone brought a flicker of a smile to my face, though I hid it quickly.

“Because—” I started, but Soryn’s heavy tread cut me off. His scales shimmered with amused bronze as he sized up the situation.

“Ronhar.” Soryn claimed a prep station, his prosthetic arm whirring faintly as he arranged ingredients. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Making everything sound like a tactical briefing.” He gestured at Jani with his good arm, the motion casual but deliberate. “What he’s trying to say is we need to make a supply run. Usually his job, but given the circumstances...”

My jaw tightened. I met his knowing look without comment. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Perfect training opportunity,” Soryn continued. “Show her the ropes. Introduce her to our regular vendors.”

“I can handle it alone.” The words came out more clipped than I intended. Even as I said them, I knew they weren’t entirely true. And, more annoyingly, I didn’t want them to be.

“Obviously.” Soryn’s scales rippled with amusement, his gaze flicking between us. “But she needs to learn the market eventually. Might as well be now.”

“I don’t mind helping,” Jani offered, her voice even but steady. Her dark eyes held a quiet determination that tugged atsomething I couldn’t quite name. “If I’m going to work here, I need to learn the market anyway.”

I nodded reluctantly, though the tension in my chest didn’t ease. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Settled then.” Soryn tapped his tablet. “Flo-Lift leaves in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”

He turned back to his work, leaving me alone with Jani and the faint hum of the garden’s energy.

“So...” She tilted her head, her expression softening in the morning light. “The Bazaar?”

“This way.” I led her toward the station’s transit hub, hyper-aware of her footsteps matching mine.

The early crowd moved with purpose: dock workers changing shifts, merchants unpacking wares, maintenance bots humming past. Snippets of conversation drifted by:

“...heard the trade routes are getting worse...” “...artifacts showing up...”

The Flo-Lift platform was its usual controlled chaos. Maintenance workers chatted in groups, merchants discussed their plans, and Krythari artisans spoke in their melodic language about crystal structures. The transport’s shimmering field glowed faintly as we stepped aboard, lifting us smoothly toward the upper rings.

---