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“Sit,” Abuela said.

“Path of Sacrifice,” Grachi said suddenly, remembering Abuela’s words. Not sacrifice of blood. Sacrifice of self .

“Help them find the Tres Caminos before the hunter finds them first.” grachi

Something hot and defensive flared in Grachi’s chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

That evening, Grachi’s abuela called her into the kitchen. Abuela Elena was a small woman with the posture of a general and the hands of a sculptor. She was kneading dough for pan de muerto , even though it was nowhere near November. “Sit,” Abuela said

Abuela Elena wiped her floury hands on her apron. Then she lifted a finger. A single, perfect flame danced at her fingertip—a warm, golden flame that smelled of cinnamon and rosemary. Not a threat. A hearth.

That’s when Diego found her.

She came to the parent-teacher conference wearing a cream suit and a smile like a razor. She found Grachi by the lockers after school.