The place was a throwback to another millennium, with its black-and-white checkered floor, vintage jukebox, and old photographs. The building itself had to be a hundred years old, every surface chipped or peeling, its outdoor benches eaten away with rust. But the ice cream was heavenly, homemade, and stuffed into waffle cones so big you had to grip them two-handed, with a gumball shoved at the bottom to stop leaks. Chewing that cream-covered frozen gumball was the best part, Leo thought—a sweet coda to an indulgent adventure—though it always felt like it would break your teeth.

Which is why his six-year-old heart sat heavy in his chest as he stood with his brother across the street, surveying the destruction before him, the entire building caved in, collapsed, as if crushed under a kaiju’s scaly-footed stomp. There were other signs of ruin close by: a fallen tree, the upturned sidewalk, the crack in the pavement running lengthwise across the street. But it was the ice cream shop that had been at the center of the destruction, its stone shell a crumbled heap, its glass doors and windows shattered, laying bare parts of the interior—the marble countertop, the jagged remains of the tiled floor, the still intact commode sitting stalwart next to the broken bathroom sink. A few men in bright orange vests poked through the rubble beyond the caution tape. Leo had no idea what they were looking for. Gumballs, he thought, worrying over all the sweet things that were lost forever. Canisters of whipped cream. Sprinkles and chocolate chips.

Leo could remember the first time his parents had brought him here. His brother had already been twice with friends and had hyped it up. To hear Gareth talk, the ice cream at Fudgy’s was better than anything Leo had ever encountered in his entire life. Better than video games. Better than french fries. Better than the Coalition, even. “Think of every cool thing the Aykari have ever given us,” Gareth prompted. “Fudgy’s ice cream is better than all of it.”

It was a preposterous claim: The Aykari had made it possible for humans to travel across the galaxy. They had practically eradicated cancer. They had laser guns, for heaven’s sake. No ice cream could be better than laser guns.

Except it was. Or at least Leo had convinced himself it was, his face smeared an alien shade of blue from the three scoops of cotton candy ice cream that he’d somehow managed to fit into his belly. And then there was that precious little surprise at the end, sealing the deal. So delicious. So much better than traveling faster than the speed of light.

Now it was all buried underneath four feet of debris, trapped under cement and drywall and wood. Leo reached out and took his mother’s hand.

“It’s a shame,” she said. “I really liked that place.”

She looked around and Leo followed her gaze, taking in the other nearby stores and offices and restaurants. There were several more shattered windows. The sign for Baker Brothers Shoes had fallen. A water main had busted, judging by the pool-size puddle in the street. But nothing like what had happened to the building lying in a heap before them. “I didn’t think the quake was that bad,” she added. “It hardly rattled the dishes.”