The meal after the ceremony was the best the compound had produced.
Not because of the occasion specifically — though the occasion was real and significant and entirely worthy. Because of the accumulated months of learning what a table could hold. Because of Kira's east kitchen and Darius's sauce and the specific communal warmth of a compound that had been feeding itself and each other with increasing intention since before Rowan was born.
The sauce was at twenty-two minutes.
Darius had timed it with the same precision he brought to territorial administration, which was the precision he brought to everything that mattered, which was the whole of his life now.
"The sauce," Cole said, when it arrived at the table.
"Yes," Darius said.
"Your sauce," Cole said.
"Yes," Darius said.
"Chap
