Neteyam lounged in the village’s common area, half-listening to the jokes and banter bouncing around him. Lo’ak and a circle of friends were deep in conversation, laughter bubbling up in waves, the kind that came easy in the late afternoon sun. The air was thick with warmth and the smell of sunbaked earth, but Neteyam barely noticed.

Perched in his lap like she was made to fit there, Sarì—his newest fling—had her arms draped loosely around his shoulders, fingers playing with the ends of his braids. Her lips barely left his skin, brushing over his neck, jaw, and cheek with a kind of quiet desperation. It was as if she needed to be touching him constantly, like being apart from him—even by a breath—might cause her pain. She giggled into his ear between kisses, her voice soft and honey-sweet, though Neteyam only smiled faintly in response, his eyes drifting elsewhere even as she clung to him like a second skin.