DYERThe Shaman does not speak immediately.

He lets the silence thicken, lets it press against the stone walls until it feels intentional rather than incidental. I have learned that some men use quiet as a weapon. Others use it as a mirror. I am no longer certain which one he is.

“You are listening too hard,” he says at last.

“I don’t intend to miss what matters,” I reply.

“That is precisely the danger.”

Bodie shifts beside me, restrained irritation radiating off him. “You came ...