Palamedes remembers the way Gideon had responded to the food served at Canaan House, clearly in awe of the mere existence of lightly-dressed vegetables. Food on the Sixth had always been a bit more varied than the Ninth, but even that was nothing like the Serena Eterna, with its milkshakes, its bubble tea, and its pizza.

He makes a note to insist that Gideon acclimate to the sudden cornucopia of choices gradually, lest she end up doubled over with stomach cramps for days.

Scooping the ice cream into the little coated paper bowls, he frowns faintly at the reference to the poor Fourth House kids. “I’m afraid not. This isn’t some kind of afterlife you’ve never heard about—not everyone who dies ends up here, and not everyone here died before they arrived.” Pal almost almost wishes it were that simple.

He offers her the ice cream over the counter. “It’s a constructed pocket universe outside of time and space.”