THE WEIGHT OF JUSTICEThe morning sun hit the mountain snow with a blinding white light. Inside the retreat, the air was warm, smelling of toasted bread and the last of the firewood. Esmeralda sat at the small kitchen table, her eyes tired but her mind racing. The papers from the night before were still spread out, edges curled from the humidity of the kettle.

Demetrius was by the window, sharpening a small hunting knife. The rhythmic shick-shick of the stone against metal was the only ...