Page 7 of Sanctuary and Spices

Ifelt the weight of that “yes” settle, lingering on my tongue. My body ached, but the warmth of the flame grill and the mingling scents of wild herbs and cooking spices drew me in. This place reminded me of my grandmother’s kitchen—a space where joy came first, long before I traded it for precision.

My stomach rumbled, a reminder of the meal I’d just eaten. Real food for the first time in... I couldn’t remember how long. The Crown’s molecular gastronomy left you full but unsatisfied, like trying to survive on nutrient packs. This, though, was different.

Soryn reached for an apron, handing it to me with his good arm. “Standard lunch menu’s up there.” He nodded toward a board near the grill. “Nothing fancy. Just good food done right.”

I tied the apron strings, the motion automatic. The fabric was soft, worn smooth from use—a stark contrast to the pristine whites of the Crown’s kitchen. My throat tightened, but I pushed the emotion away, focusing instead on the menu while I stashed my bag.

“Got it,” I said. “Where do you keep your basics?”

He gave me a quick tour, pointing out standard storage units alongside crystal-lined cabinets humming faintly with energy.“Leyline-powered,” he explained as I hesitated. “Keeps things fresh longer than standard stasis.”

“Leylines?” I’d heard whispers about the Veil’s unique power systems but hadn’t expected to find them in a kitchen.

“The station runs on them. You’ll get used to it.” He moved to the flame grill, positioning himself carefully to keep his prosthetic out of the way. “Lunch crowd’ll be here soon. You good with proteins?”

“It’s been a while since I worked with real fire,” I admitted, stepping up beside him. “But yeah, I can handle it.”

Through the window, I caught sight of Ronhar tending to his plants. His movements were precise yet unhurried, his focus absolute. Somehow, he always seemed to anticipate our needs, appearing with fresh herbs just as Soryn reached for them. His presence filled the space, grounding it in an unspoken calm.

“Two orders of the house special,” a server called through the window. “One extra spicy.”

I adjusted the flame pattern, my hands steadying as I fell into the rhythm. A vine brushed against my wrist—a subtle nudge that kept the pan from tipping. I glanced up, meeting Ronhar’s eyes through the glass. His gaze lingered for just a moment before he turned back to his plants, leaving me to wonder whether the touch had been deliberate.

“Here.” Soryn handed me a bunch of unfamiliar herbs. “Ronhar’s special variety. Brings out the flavors better than standard teyrith.”

The leaves released a heady aroma as I chopped, their scent both comforting and invigorating. These plants weren’t just alive—they thrived. It felt like working with something sacred.

The lunch rush began in earnest. Orders came fast, and I lost myself in the flow of cooking. Muscle memory guided my hands as I adjusted flames, seasoned dishes, and plated meals. Soryn and I found an unspoken rhythm, our movementscomplementing each other as though we’d been working together for years.

“Order up!” I called, sliding plates onto the pass. Each one simple, perfectly executed. Real food, no pretense.

“You’re good at this,” Soryn said during a brief lull. “The real cooking, I mean.”

“Thanks.” I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. “It’s been a while since...” Since I cooked with my heart instead of my ego.

“Sometimes we need to step back to move forward,” Soryn said, adjusting his prosthetic with a grimace. “Took me a while to learn that lesson.”

Through the windows, Ronhar moved between the garden and kitchen with quiet grace. His presence didn’t crowd the space; it filled it, making it feel warmer, more alive. Every time he passed behind me, I felt the faint heat of him—a subtle distraction I couldn’t quite shake.

The lunch crowd thinned, leaving the café quieter. I wiped down my station, my body aching in a way that felt... earned. Not like the hollow exhaustion of the Crown, where stims and desperation had fueled me. This ache was real. Good.

But as the adrenaline ebbed, the weight of my exhaustion crept back in, settling into my bones. I leaned against the counter, letting my eyes close for just a second.

“You’re going to wear a hole in my counter,” Soryn said, glancing up from his account books.

I dropped the cleaning cloth. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Wasn’t complaining.” He set aside a stack of invoices. “But you look ready to drop. Where are you staying?”

Heat crept up my neck as I glanced at the bag I’d dumped by the kitchen door. “I... haven’t exactly figured that out yet.”

“Meaning you have nowhere to go.”

“I’ll find something,” I said quickly, sharper than I intended. Through the window, Ronhar’s hands stilled over a patch of Jhyra. He didn’t look up, but I knew he was listening.

“Can’t have my chef sleeping in the streets,” Soryn said, his tone light but firm. “There’s a boarding house three levels down. Run by a Thaskari named Barou. Basic accommodations, but clean. She’ll give you a fair rate.”

“My funds are limited,” I admitted reluctantly. Breaking my contract with the Crown had drained more than my reputation.

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