Page 2 of Sanctuary and Spices

But there were no words to fix this. No perfectly balanced flavors to make it right. I turned and walked out of the dining room, past my shocked staff, through the kitchen, and straight to my quarters.

I stripped off my chef’s whites and shoved them into the recycler. Ten years of working toward this position, gone in ten seconds of insanity.

My tablet chimed. Then chimed again. And again.

URGENT: Culinary Guild Review Board - Meeting Required for Chef Jani Crayle

NOTICE: Celestial Crown HR Department - Immediate Disciplinary Review

ALERT: Public Relations - Statement Needed re: Diplomatic Incident

INCOMING CALL: Executive Guild Master Crayle

My Father. The last person I wanted to speak to right now.

I hesitated, staring at the screen. The call ended, but a notification appeared immediately after:Message Received.

I opened it reluctantly.

Subject:Immediate Response Required

Jani,

I’ve been informed of the situation at the Celestial Crown. Do you realize the magnitude of the damage you’ve caused? This isn’t just about you—it reflects on the Guild and our family name. The diplomatic fallout alone could jeopardize trade agreements we’ve spent years negotiating.

You need to address this. Now. I expect a full explanation and a plan to resolve it. Call me immediately.

—Executive Guild Master Crayle

My hands grippedthe edge of the counter, knuckles white.

I should fight this. I should compose an apology, call my father, and salvage what I could of my career. The logical part of me knew it wouldn’t work—not this time, not after what I’d done. But the thought of walking away from everything I’d worked for made my stomach churn. Ten years. Ten years of grinding my way through impossible kitchens, winning every accolade, chasing every step up the ladder.

For what?

I stared at the notifications again, my vision blurring. I couldn’t go back. Even if I kept my job, even if the Guild didn’t blacklist me, the thought of returning to that sterile kitchen, to the endless perfection, felt suffocating. Cooking had stopped being about joy a long time ago.

The AI chimed softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.

I switched the tablet to silent, but the notifications kept flashing: “...diplomatic incident threatens trade negotiations...” “...unprecedented breach of protocol...” “...rising star chef’s public meltdown...”

My grandmother’s cookbook sat on my shelf, its worn cover a reminder of simpler days in the colony kitchens when cooking meant love, not precision.

When had I lost that? When had I started caring more about molecular harmony than making people happy?

The ship’s AI chimed softly: “Attention all passengers. Transport vesselCaliee’s Callnow boarding at Dock Seven, final destination: The Ardent Veil.”

I pulled up the departure details on my tablet, switching screens from the still-accumulating notifications.

The Ardent Veil - that mysterious space station I’d only heard stories about, where people went to reinvent themselves. Where even the most prestigious luxury liners couldn’t dock because their automated systems couldn’t interface with its ancient technology.

My fingers moved before I could second-guess myself, booking passage and submitting my resignation in the same breath. The Celestial Crown had been my dream once, but dreams could change.

Maybe it was time to find a new one.

RONHAR

Morning light spilled through the Wanderer’s Rest’s massive windows, transforming the crystalline formations in our conservatory into prisms of scattered rainbows. I moved between the hydroponic beds, noting with satisfaction how the Sylnithian teyrith had adapted to station conditions—better than expected, its silver-edged leaves more vibrant than traditional growing methods typically produced.

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