“We need you safe more.”
You touched the empty pouch at your waist.
“Grandma’s remedy helped her.”
Aunt Maribel’s face softened.
“I know.”
“Then maybe we should tell people what it was.”
“No, Citlali.”
Her voice sharpened enough to make you sit still.
“That remedy was not a product. It was not a show. Your grandmother did not teach you so men like Villalobos could bottle our medicine and sell it back to sick people for five hundred dollars a drop.”
You swallowed.
You knew she was right.
But you also remembered Valentina’s eyes.
The way she cried before she spoke.
