Six weeks had passed since the feast.

  Six weeks since they'd celebrated the first successful buffalo hunt with Crowfeet, since the two tribes had sat at the same fire and decided—without saying it aloud—that maybe this alliance could hold.

  The archway settlement didn't look temporary anymore.

  Stone foundations had been laid for permanent structures. The agriculture patches behind the archway had grown from stubborn hope into actual green—hardy grain, root vegetables, moss beds fed by careful irrigation. Crowfeet hunters guided the herds with an understanding Stone Path was still learning, reading the animals' patterns like weather. Stone Path had built the pens, the drying racks, the stone-lined storage pits that kept meat from spoiling.

  And the children—Stone Path and Crowfeet both—spent their days in a cleared space near the spring, watched over by women who'd stopped asking whose child belonged to whom.

  Ressa had carved a place there without meaning to.

  Not as a mother anymore—that word still caught in her throat like a burr—but as someone who knew how to organize chaos into structure. Who knew when to be firm and when to let things settle on their own. The women listened to her now, Stone Path and Crowfeet alike, and that mattered more than she'd expected it to.

  She stood near the fire ring at dawn, watching the camp wake up with the kind of practiced eye that came from weeks of doing the same thing every morning. Checking who was moving slow, who looked sick, who needed food or rest or just someone to notice them.

  Behind her, in the tent she still shared with Ethan, something shifted.

  Not Ethan.

  Azrael.

  Ressa felt the presence like cold metal near her spine—sharp, attentive, feminine in a way that had nothing to do with softness. She'd learned to recognize it over the past month, the way you learned to recognize a rival's footsteps.

  Ethan had explained once, carefully, that Azrael was a sword spirit. A woman bound to steel, bound to him through contract and necessity. He'd said it like it was simple. Like it didn't matter that there was another woman—spirit or not—who slept closer to him than Ressa ever would.

  Ressa told herself it was practical to notice.

  Told herself the tightness in her chest when Azrael's presence grew stronger was just wariness of spirits in general.

  Told herself she didn't care.

  The lie was getting harder to maintain.

  This morning, Azrael's attention pressed heavier than usual, like she was watching something Ressa couldn't see. Or maybe watching Ressa herself.

  Ressa turned her head slightly, not looking directly at where the presence felt strongest, and spoke quietly. "He's planning something."

  The presence didn't answer—spirits didn't talk to just anyone—but it shifted. Acknowledgment, maybe. Or agreement.

  Ressa's jaw tightened. She didn't need Azrael's confirmation. She'd seen it in the way Ethan had returned this morning with Crowfeet scouts, dirt on his boots and that look on his face—the one that meant he'd seen something that couldn't be unseen. They'd taken him to the cursed bull at the long pool. He'd come back silent, checked supplies, talked to Maurik and Krill in low voices that stopped when others approached.

  Spirit contact. That's what he was planning.

  Communing with whatever watched this land, trying to negotiate a solution to the wrongness that had started creeping into the plains.

  It was the kind of thing that could kill him. Or worse.

  And Azrael would go with him, of course. Azrael always did.

  Ressa exhaled slowly through her nose and pushed the feeling down.

  She had work to do.

  By midmorning, the camp was in full motion. Crowfeet hunters were preparing to guide a section of the herd closer to the eastern grazing ground where the grass was thicker. Stone Path hunters were checking the perimeter, setting snares, maintaining the watch posts that had become routine.

  Maurik found Ressa near the children's area, where two Stone Path women and one Crowfeet were mediating an argument over a carved bone toy.

  "He's calling council," Maurik said without preamble.

  Ressa looked up. "When?"

  "Midday. Full gathering."

  She nodded once. "I'll make sure the children are settled."

  Maurik's eyes lingered on her for a moment—not suspicious, just measuring. "He's asking for you specifically."

  That stopped her. "Why?"

  Maurik's mouth twitched. "Because you're the one who tells him when he's being stupid."

  Ressa felt something twist in her chest—not quite pride, not quite fear. "And you don't?"

  "I tell him when his tactics are bad," Maurik corrected. "You tell him when his spirit is."

  He walked away before she could respond.

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  The council gathered at midday in the widest part of the camp, where the archway's shadow cut across packed earth and everyone could see everyone else.

  Not formal. Not ceremonial.

  Just people standing in a loose circle because that's what you did when decisions needed making.

  Stone Path elders. Crowfeet seniors. Maurik and Krill. A handful of hunters from both tribes who'd earned the right to speak. And Ressa, standing where Maurik had gestured her—not at the edge, but in the inner circle where voices carried.

  Ethan stood in the center, looking tired in the way he always did before doing something dangerous.

  Azrael's presence hovered at his shoulder, visible to Ressa now as a faint distortion in the air, like heat shimmer given purpose. The spirit was more manifest than usual—either because Ethan needed her strength, or because she was making a point.

  Ressa felt that familiar tightness again and pushed it down harder.

  Ethan spoke without preamble. "The wrongness at the long pool is spreading."

  Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Not surprise—they'd all felt it. The way the herds were ranging further north. The way certain patches of grass had stopped growing. The way scavengers wouldn't touch kills left in specific areas.

  "We need to address it," Ethan continued. "Not with force. With negotiation."

  A Crowfeet elder—grizzled, missing half an ear—spoke up. "You want to speak to spirits."

  "Yes."

  "Spirits don't negotiate," the elder said flatly. "They take."

  Ethan nodded. "Usually. But they also hate imbalance. Hate things that break the rules they live by."

  Krill tilted his head. "And the bull that doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't rot—that breaks rules."

  "Yes."

  Maurik crossed his arms. "So you offer them what? Blood? Meat?"

  "Information," Ethan said. "And a promise to fix what's breaking their land."

  The elder scoffed. "Spirits don't care about promises."

  "They care about patterns," Ethan replied. "About the world behaving the way it's supposed to. If I can show them I'm trying to restore that—"

  "Then they might let you live long enough to try," Ressa said.

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  She hadn't meant to speak. But the words were out now, and she couldn't pull them back.

  Ethan's eyes found hers across the circle. Something shifted in his expression—not gratitude, not relief. Recognition.

  "Yes," he said quietly.

  Ressa took a breath. "You're going to do this whether we agree or not."

  "No," Ethan said, and there was weight in that word. "I'm not."

  The circle went still.

  Ethan looked around at the gathered faces. "I'm not a chief. I'm not a king. I don't get to make decisions that risk everyone without asking."

  Maurik grunted. "You've risked everyone before."

  "I have," Ethan agreed. "And people died for it."

  The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.

  Ressa felt her throat tighten. She knew he meant Pip. Knew he carried that weight like a stone in his chest.

  Ethan continued, voice steady. "So I'm asking. Do we try to fix this? Or do we move again?"

  The Crowfeet elder spoke first. "We just settled. Children are safe here. Herds are close. Water is good."

  "For now," Krill added quietly.

  "For now," the elder agreed. "But if the wrongness spreads..." He trailed off, the implication clear.

  A younger Stone Path hunter—one of the ones who'd come from the cave—spoke up nervously. "What if the spirits want blood? Want... sacrifice?"

  Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then I tell them no."

  Azrael's presence flared—sharp disapproval—and Ressa felt it like a slap of cold air.

  The spirit didn't like that answer. Didn't like Ethan putting limits on what he'd offer.

  Ressa spoke before she could stop herself. "And if they don't accept no?"

  Ethan looked at her again. His shadow lay wrong at his feet, too dark for noon sun.

  "Then I walk away," he said. "And we find another solution."

  Liar, Ressa thought. But she didn't say it aloud.

  She didn't have to. His face said he knew she was thinking it.

  Maurik broke the tension. "How many go with you?"

  "Two," Ethan said. "No more. Spirits don't like crowds."

  "I go," Maurik said immediately.

  "No," Ethan replied. "You're needed here. If this goes wrong, the camp needs someone who can lead."

  Maurik's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue.

  Krill spoke next. "I go."

  Ethan considered, then nodded. "Yes. You're good with spirits. You listen before you act."

  "And the second?" the Crowfeet elder asked.

  Ressa heard herself speak before her mind caught up. "Me."

  The circle erupted in murmurs. Stone Path looking shocked. Crowfeet looking confused. Maurik looking like he wanted to object but wasn't sure he had the right.

  Ethan stared at her. "Ressa—"

  "You need someone who'll tell you when you're being stupid," she said, echoing Maurik's words from earlier. "And I'm the only one here who's done it more than once."

  A few quiet laughs rippled through the gathering—nervous, but real.

  Ethan's expression was unreadable. "This is dangerous."

  "Everything's dangerous," Ressa replied. "At least this way I get to see it coming."

  Azrael's presence pressed harder now—not quite hostile, but definitely not welcoming. Ressa felt the spirit's attention on her like a blade testing her skin.

  She met it with her own stubbornness. She'd survived worse than jealous spirits.

  Ethan was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  "Alright," he said. "Ressa comes."

  Maurik looked like he wanted to protest, then thought better of it. Instead he said, "When?"

  "Tomorrow at dawn," Ethan replied. "We go to the boundary stones where the grass stops growing. We make contact there."

  The Crowfeet elder clicked his tongue—a sound that meant both agreement and resignation. "If you don't come back by sundown, we move camp."

  Ethan nodded. "Fair."

  The gathering broke apart slowly, people drifting back to their tasks with the weight of the decision settling into their bones.

  Ressa stayed where she was as the circle emptied.

  Ethan approached her once the others were out of earshot. Azrael's presence followed him like a second shadow, cold and sharp.

  "You didn't have to do that," Ethan said quietly.

  Ressa looked at him. Really looked at him—the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his hands never fully relaxed, the shadow that clung too close.

  "Yes, I did," she said.

  "Why?"

  She took a breath. Let it out slow. "Because you're going to do something stupid and self-sacrificing, and someone needs to be there to drag you back."

  Ethan's mouth twitched—not quite a smile. "That's not—"

  "Don't," Ressa cut him off. "Don't pretend you weren't planning to offer yourself as bait or payment or whatever spirits want. I've watched you long enough to know how you think."

  Azrael's presence sharpened. Ressa felt the spirit's disapproval like ice against her neck.

  She ignored it.

  Ethan was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, "You don't owe me anything."

  "I know," Ressa said. "This isn't about owing."

  "Then what is it about?"

  She didn't have a good answer for that. Didn't have words for the complicated tangle of grief and anger and reluctant trust that had formed over six weeks of sleeping in the same tent, eating at the same fire, watching him carry weight he never asked for.

  So she said the only true thing she could think of.

  "I'm tired of losing people."

  Ethan's expression cracked just slightly—something raw underneath.

  He nodded once. "Alright."

  Then he turned and walked toward the edge of camp, toward the southern ridge, where tomorrow they would go looking for spirits that might kill them or might listen.

  Azrael's presence followed him, cold and sharp and watchful.

  Ressa stood alone in the empty circle and felt that familiar tightness in her chest.

  Not jealousy, she told herself.

  Just awareness.

  Behind her, the camp continued its work. Children laughed near the spring. Hunters checked weapons. Women organized food stores.

  Life, continuing in small mechanical ways.

  Tomorrow, they would try to keep it that way.

  And if Ressa had to stand between Ethan and his own self-destructive instincts—and between him and a spirit who watched him too closely—then that's what she would do.

  She'd lost enough already.

  She wasn't ready to lose this too.

  Whatever this was.