A sandwich, a team photo, and a hint of lemongrass mayo pull Matt and Angelina into a quiet conversation about memory, loss, and why the fire tower still matters. It’s about grief that lingers, food that remembers, and the dry Missouri practicality that keeps everything stitched together.
Past midnight, Matt and Leonard discuss the million V’ren refugees still in orbit, their skills, and the politics of settlement. Matt plays for time, looking to secure long-term leverage and stability in the continental interior—offering Missouri hospitality as part of the plan.
Over a simple farm dinner, Matt offers T’mari the ancient welcome of his family’s land—guest right at his hearth and table. Between shared histories, cultural respect, and talk of futures under open skies, a bond begins to form, rooted in hospitality and the promise of sanctuary.
T’monn stared out the window, the Missouri night rolling past in streaks of dark and light.
“If you told them to leave,” she said, “they would. But most would rather stay.”
Matt didn’t answer right away. The red demon called Pickup growled beneath them, chasing its own headlights through the gravel dark.
“They’re not going anywhere,” he said. “This is home now.”