We sit in silence for a long minute. There’s nothing to say that doesn’t sound like a death sentence. My restaurant’s just afew blocks from the Festival’s epicenter. I know a dozen families that plan to attend. I cater for half of them.
“Alright,” I say finally. “We take it public.”
Kristi’s head snaps up. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. Let the holonet drag him into the light. People’ll riot.”
She shakes her head. “No. It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s got friends in the holonet. Because this kind of leak won’t make it past the first firewall unless it’s accompanied by evidence that’ll hold up under scrutiny. And because if we tip our hand too early, he’ll change the plan and we’ll never find the new one.”
I rub my face. The stubble burns my palm. “Then what? We sit on it? Wait for the right moment while people die?”
“No.” She grabs my hand. Tight. “We plan smarter.”
I glance at our compad spread—dozens of files, maps, comm logs, troop manifests from back when Dennis was still pretending to be just a businessman. It’s a damn war table. In my living room.
I never thought I’d be here again.
“I’ve got a contact,” she says slowly. “Sereen diplomat. She owes me from the riots last year. If I can get her to provide classified access to the Festival's inner logistics command, we could find the launch window. Maybe even the exact drone being used.”
“That’s risky.”
“Everything’s risky now.”
“And what do I do?”
She glances up at me. “You cook.”
I blink. “Come again?”
“You cater for half the damn festival. You’ve got clearance. Access. You can get us close enough to plant a virus in theirsystems. We don’t stop the attack by warning people. We stop it by making the delivery drone choke on its own software.”
My jaw drops slightly. “You want me to weaponize my kitchen?”
Her mouth curves. “You’re the best chef on this side of the sector, Kenron. You think I didn’t fall in love with the taste of revolution?”
I stare at her. Hard. Then I burst out laughing. Not because it’s funny. Because she said it. The L-word. No armor. No flinch. And gods help me, it feels like breathing for the first time in years.
“You’re insane,” I murmur.
“I’m right.”
I nod. “Yeah. You are.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon plotting. I clean the prep stations while she rewires my backup compad to store the virus code we’ll need. I test sauces while she argues with her Sereen contact over an encrypted channel. We plan drone infiltration and air current redirections while I grind pepperroot and smoke citrus skins to mask the trace scent of combustion nanites.
It’s bizarre. Domestic and deadly.
And weirdly... kind of us.
The sun dips. The blue turns orange, then bruises purple across the skyline. Kristi’s voice gets softer as the light fades. Her hands slow, and she starts leaning into me when she passes, like proximity’s the thing anchoring her.
I kiss her temple without thinking.
She hums. Doesn’t pull away.
