You’ve been waiting for what seems like hours, crouched low behind a cluster of broad-leaved plants. Your muscles ache from the stillness, but moving even an inch would give away your position.

Rodolfo stands just ahead of you, his dark eyes glazed with that unsettling, dazy look that signals the cadejos have taken over. The twin spirit dogs are his eyes and ears now.

“Rodolfo, anything?” you whisper. His head tilts ever so slightly, almost like he's listening to a distant sound only he can hear. The two cadejos can scout ahead undetected, a valuable advantage when spying on Valeria's men.

Rodolfo doesn’t respond. The white cadejo, the protector, is closer, the black one, the hunter's moving ahead.

Then you notice it—the slight tremor in Rodolfo’s legs. A tiny sway. Damn it. He’s kept them out too long. The color drains from his face, his breath comes faster, more ragged. He's always been strong, but there’s only so much a man can take when his spirit is stretched between two worlds.

His eyes remain unfocused, his lips slightly parted. The sway becomes more pronounced, his body leaning too far forward. A jolt of fear shoots through you. If he falls, if he makes a noise, you’ll both be as good as dead.

“Rodolfo, come on, man! Pull them back!” you hiss, your hand darting out to grip his arm, steadying him as gently as you can. His skin is cold, clammy. You can feel his pulse racing beneath your fingers. For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear you, that he’s lost in that liminal space between reality and whatever realm the cadejos walk. But then his eyes flicker, just for a moment.

“Too…close…” he mutters, voice weak and breathy. “They’re…close…”

A low growl rumbles in the distance. The black cadejo and suddenly, Rodolfo’s eyes snap back into focus, dark and alert, but bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. He sucks in a deep breath, nearly collapsing against you as his knees buckle. You hold him up, his body sagging against yours.

“They know we’re here,” he gasps, voice raw. “Three of them…headed this way.”