The kitchen of the Sapphire Tower was a minimalist’s dream, but by 7:00 PM, Damian Blackwood had turned it into a tactical disaster zone. He stood at the center island, sweat beading on his forehead, staring at a bowl of habanero peppers like they were a hostile takeover bid.
"The secret is in the capsaicin, Dad," Liam said, sitting on a high stool with his chin in his hands. "It binds to the pain receptors. If you don't deseed them properly, the heat rating goes off the charts."
Damian glanced at the Scoville scale Liam had pinned to the refrigerator.
"I’m aware of the science, Liam," Damian muttered, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "I’m just wondering why a five-year-old’s favorite meal involves ingredients used in industrial-grade riot control."
"It builds character," Noa
