Page 4 of Sanctuary and Spices

But it was his eyes that caught me off guard - a striking gold that seemed to catch the light, watching me with an intensity that made me suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look after my journey. His features were sharp but elegant, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw softened by the way he tiltedhis head, studying me with what seemed like genuine curiosity rather than judgment.

I pulled my hand back, realizing I’d been fondling his herbs without so much as introducing myself.

“I’m sorry. Force of habit. I’m Jani.” Heat crept up my neck as I tried to steady my voice. “Former head chef of the Celestial Crown. Current... garden invader, apparently.”

He held out the tea. “Ronhar.”

I took the cup, noting the careful way he handled the delicate porcelain. His hands bore calluses similar to mine—strong, capable hands that somehow managed to be incredibly gentle with the most delicate blooms. My gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, and I found myself wondering if he was that gentle with everything he cared about.

“Thank you.” The tea’s aroma hit me first—notes of something like jasmine but wilder, earthier. “Is this?—?”

“From the Jhyra.” He nodded toward a cluster of silver-petaled flowers. “They bloom at dawn.” His smile flickered so fast I almost missed it. “Even here, on the station.”

“I’ve never tasted anything like it.” The flavor opened up on my tongue—sweet, then spicy, then something else entirely. My chef’s mind started cataloging possibilities before I caught myself. I wasn’t here to create new dishes.

That was my old life. The one I’d left.

“We open soon.” He gestured past the kitchen’s prep stations toward the main café beyond the garden’s glass walls. “Soryn makes breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

My stomach twisted at the thought of food, but my eye caught on the kitchen setup through the glass. Professional-grade equipment mixed with older models I didn’t recognize. A bronze-scaled alien who looked like a cross between a giant and a dragon—Soryn, I assumed—moved with the efficiency of someone who knew his space well.

The door chimed. A delivery bot wheeled in, loaded with produce crates. Soryn reached for them, but his prosthetic arm seized mid-motion. The bot, lacking situational awareness, continued forward. Crates wobbled.

I moved without thinking, sliding between Soryn and the bot. “Hold delivery.” The bot froze at my command voice—the one that had controlled kitchens of fifty. “Authorization?”

“Beta-seven-nine,” Soryn gritted out, working his mechanical fingers.

“Beta-seven-nine, pause delivery sequence.” I turned to Soryn. “May I?”

He nodded, letting me take the weight of the crate he held while he worked his arm. The familiar rhythm of a kitchen in motion settled over me—check contents, assess priorities, maintain flow.

“The servo in the elbow catches sometimes,” Soryn said, finally getting his arm moving again. “Been meaning to have it looked at.”

“I can help unload these.” The words came automatically. “You’ll need the prisma fruit stored first, before they lose their charge.”

Soryn’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’ve worked with them before?”

“Three years as sous chef on the Celestial Crown’s deep space route.” I shifted the crate to my hip. “Prisma fruit goes bad fast if you don’t?—”

“Get them in stasis within twenty minutes of delivery. Good to know someone else around here understands proper ingredient handling. Thanks for the assist,” Soryn said, giving his hand a final flex. “Listen—breakfast service starts soon. Help me through the morning rush, meal’s on the house?”

I hesitated. “I’m not really looking to...”

“Just breakfast,” he said. “One meal, one shift. Fair trade? Though you’ll eat something first—I don’t need anyone passing out in my kitchen.” I hesitated, the weight of my exhaustion pressing down harder now that I’d stopped moving. The thought of standing, let alone cooking, made my legs wobble. But the warmth of real food and the familiar hum of a kitchen tugged at me. And my stomach had started growling at the smell of real cooking.

“I... I can manage one shift,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

I felt Ronhar watching as Soryn and I fell into the dance of kitchen work—sorting, storing, prepping. My body remembered this, even if my mind wanted to run from anything resembling cooking.

“You have an actual flame grill,” I noted, unable to keep the appreciation from my voice. TheCelestial Crown’skitchen had been all precision tech and molecular gastronomy. This was different. Real fire, real food.

“Best way to bring out the flavors.” Soryn adjusted a knob with his good arm. “Hard to find cooks who know how to use one these days.”

My fingers itched to try it, but I pushed the urge away. I wasn’t here to cook. I wasn’t here to do anything except...

What was I here to do?

The garden’s scents wrapped around me—herbs and flowers and actual soil. So different from the sterile perfection of the Crown’s hydroponic bays. Through the windows, early customers began filtering into the café. Snippets of conversation drifted in:

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