Jaime had drawn and redrawn the lines in the sand, ignoring the grunts of dissatisfaction that followed every revision. If it didn’t make sense, he would rather erase dirt than waste everyone’s time.

  The baths had been a perfect lesson in why preparation mattered. The pools had come first, the building afterward—rough work born of inexperience. Jimena had returned with ideas and criticisms alike, strolling through the village as if she had never left.

  A confident smile. Full armor.

  The children had cheered. The adults welcomed her with tears and open arms. Jaime had rolled his eyes at her flashy return.

  After all, the crying mess he’d seen later—that was her true face.

  Their father had looked pale. He said nothing, only shook his head before disappearing into their large hut. The pack on his back—stuffed with glowing things and strange colors—had left an impression all on its own.

  The stories were wonderful.

  Places they had visited atop the great blue deer, Kauyumari. Wonders layered upon wonders, each trinket carrying a tale. Jaime hated how jealous it made him feel—though worry for her safety won in the end.

  Jimena had been far more talkative than usual since returning, an anxious edge following her every step. Jaime didn’t press. He recognized that look. It was how she processed things—by moving, by talking, by doing.

  Her help had been invaluable. Her ideas less so.

  Jaime frowned at the rough sketch before him. Wiggly lines in the sand were not an effective way to convey the majesty of stone buildings she claimed to have seen. Her sweeping gestures didn’t help either, no matter how earnestly the elders nodded along as if they understood.

  Still, the village needed solutions.

  People were busy. Children were too young—or too unconcerned—to dig deep. And with the flood of newcomers, the village had begun to smell. The people of Bahía Oscura had their habits. Others did not.

  So Jaime had decided.

  A new public bath. Toilets. All fed by the expanding spring Marisol had nurtured with divinity and patience. Clay bricks were ready. Wood stockpiled. Hands gathered.

  The toilets would come first.

  He could already see it—solid foundations, water flowing steadily, carrying waste into deep pits dug at the edges of the fields. Those fields would need expanding too. Jaime wiped his brow.

  The three chosen had taken on more than they realized. Jimena especially.

  He glanced at her laughing with Xolo, then back to the canal lines carved into the dirt. Revising again, he traced the grooves with his fingers. Cimi hooted impatiently, but Jaime didn’t hear her.

  The older farmers led the digging. Smaller pits branched from larger ones, meant to collect liquids and guide them through layers of porous material—natural filters taught by elders and confirmed by nature itself. After all, some animals could talk, if one listened.

  Charcoal. Wood. Volcanic stone. Sand.

  Layer by layer, they built a system meant to cleanse black water into something plants could use. Or at least, that was the hope. Nothing like this had been done at such a scale before. Jimena hadn’t objected—and Jaime took that as confirmation enough.

  Finally, he nodded.

  With a confident smile, he signaled for the work to begin. The villagers returned the gesture, though Jaime knew most didn’t truly understand what the waiting, the tracing, the endless redrawing had achieved.

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  But no one questioned it.

  Chosen always spoke strangely with the spirits.

  “Great,” Jimena said, stepping beside him with Xolo at her heels, watching the first stones laid. “We’re finally starting.”

  Her smile was bright.

  And for once, Jaime let himself believe it.

  -

  Jimena watched everyone work with the widest smile she could muster.

  Inside, she felt worse than she ever had.

  The images of what she’d done replayed endlessly in her mind, snapping shut whenever she stayed still for too long. So she kept moving. Showing her new power. Returning triumphant from the journey of a lifetime. Then crying with Marisol—without ever letting her know what had truly happened.

  Her friend hadn’t questioned the sadness. She had only held her.

  Jaime had been there the entire time. Watching her with two sets of eyes. Cimi’s gaze had been the worst of it—sharp and knowing, as if the owl could see straight through flesh and thought alike. Thankfully, the bird hadn’t said anything. Or if she had, Jaime didn't mention it to Jimena.

  Jimena didn’t feel that what she had done was bad.

  No one around her treated it as such. And maybe that was why it felt wrong.

  The people she burned in her fire had released parts of themselves into it—fed it fragments of who they were. Through the colorful pyre, she had seen pieces of their lives: moments of fear, love, anger, longing.

  It made her wonder why people fought and killed each other at all. If they were so similar at their core, why did they not help one another instead?

  Even among those she wanted to protect, she had seen it—the unevenness of care between villages, the way some thrived while others were left to rot. Power, shared unevenly. Compassion, rationed.

  Jaime smiled at her and took her hand.

  The tears finally came.

  They streamed down her face and turned instantly to steam, vanishing before anyone could see the evidence.

  She couldn’t hide in her room anymore, not like she had for so many years. She needed to be stronger if she was going to protect the people she loved. More determined. Willing to push through the muck that clung to her spirit.

  The memories of those she had sacrificed to her pyre threatened to pull her under—but she wouldn’t let them.

  Her fire would consume what weighed her down. Turn it to ash. And from that ash, she would nurture life.

  She squeezed her brother’s hand tighter.

  Xolo chose that moment to lick her palm with his warm, slobbering tongue, yanking her back from the brink. She grimaced at the slimy saliva—and then laughed as the dog attempted some strange, enthusiastic dance meant to cheer her up.

  Jaime and Cimi stared at the dog like it had lost its mind.

  Jimena couldn’t stop laughing.

  She laughed until she snorted, until her chest hurt and she could barely breathe. The sound cut through the seriousness of the work around them, spreading like sparks through dry grass.

  A chorus of laughter followed.

  And though embarrassment burned her cheeks, Jimena welcomed it.

  For the first time since returning, the weight on her chest eased—just a little.