Don’t expect me to smile about it.
-K
I don’t wait for a reply.
There’s no excuse good enough. Not for what I’ve done.
CHAPTER 12
KENRON
Idon’t have to tell him.
Father sees it in my posture. In the way I move through the kitchen like the floor might break beneath me. Vakutan warriors don’t talk about their wounds. We wear them. Scar tissue and silence in equal measure.
So I don’t say a word.
I just work.
Longer than usual.
Earlier than usual.
The others start to notice. Kiv throws me glances when she thinks I’m not looking, her crest flickering with worry. One of the fry cooks—Brimm—asks if we’re prepping for a festival. I give him a look sharp enough to stop him mid-sentence.
Hours pass and my claws bleed from over-sharpening the knives. I don’t feel it until I see rust-red smears on the garlic board. I wash it off before anyone can comment. Switch stations. Try to shake the weight in my chest through sheer motion.
I perfect everything. That’s the only plan I have.
Broths simmer longer.
Spices toast deeper.
Every heat coil on the line is used at full capacity.
If the world outside wants to crush us with laws and bureaucrats and smiling serpents in suits, then let them try. Let them choke on our excellence. Let them taste what they’re erasing.
But tonight, even that isn’t enough.
Nothing is.
The broths come out too bitter. The spices burn too hot. I taste and retaste and everything is wrong. I smash a mortar with my fist when the third blend comes out harsh and metallic. The crack is loud enough to draw Kiv over.
“You okay, chef?” she asks, voice low.
I want to scream.
But all that comes out is, “It’s off.”
She doesn’t press. Vakutan don’t pry when the wound is still bleeding. She grabs a fresh mortar and moves on.
The dining room fills like it always does—bustling, loud, alive. But tonight, the laughter grates on me, like sand in the gears. The clink of glasses sounds like shrapnel. The hum of conversation buzzes against my temples like static.
And over it all—her name haunts the air like smoke.
Kristi.
I haven’t said it out loud since the night she told me what she’d done.
