It always grates on Ify how the synthetic sunlight never properly mimics the days and nights she remembers. When people should be readying for bed, it still looks outside as though it is the middle of the day. Sometimes, she thinks this is a malfunction of this particular neighborhood or this corner of the Colony. But it is really that the people who live here like it this way. They like long days, even if it means that children grow up not knowing when they should go to sleep to get proper rest and be ready for school. Or teenagers will play their music too loudly for too long while others are trying to sleep. Remove the rules, and you might as well prepare for chaos. That is what she feels, sitting on the front porch of Paige and Amy’s home. Whenever she is in Alabast, this is what’s waiting for her: messed-up sleep cycles and unseasoned spaghetti.

“Not enough spices,” says a voice from behind her, as though reading her mind.

She’s halfway to her feet when Peter shuffles down the steps to sit next to her. They’re close, but he leaves enough space to be respectful.

“I should say something, shouldn’t I?”

Ify doesn’t disguise her skepticism.

“Don’t worry, they’re busy cleaning right now. And saying loving things to each other. I am happy to give them their space.”

Ify lets him sit in silence long enough for it to become uncomfortable, but Peter seems unfazed, focusing his gaze on the starless simulated sky. “What really happened?” She hopes he hears the low threat in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

Ify’s frown deepens.

“Oh. Well, I was captured by the Popular Front. I wasn’t tortured or anything. There were others in my prison. One of them was a journalist who kept going on and on about what a beautiful country Nigeria was. I thought maybe he was a spy with the Popular Front. They maybe put him in prison to see if any of us was with another group or with the government. Maybe they put him there to trick us. If he was a spy, he wasn’t a good one. They even tortured him a little bit, but perhaps this was just part of their plan to make it convincing. Anyway, after my release, they took me to the local chief for that area, a big oga draped in golden robes and jewels, and he apologized for jailing me and asked for my forgiveness. Then he gave me many naira and sent me on my way.”

“This is what you told them?” Ify asks.