The compound was quiet at dusk.
Sari had watched it for three days—the pattern of the guards, the timing of the fires, the moments when the gate was left unguarded. Mbah Ratu's followers were many, but they were not soldiers. They got tired. They left doors open.
Tonight, one of them had left the side gate unlatched.
Sari slipped through the opening and into the compound.
The air was different inside—thicker, heavier, laced with the smell of smoke and something else. Something chemical, underneath the incense. The same smell from the spring.
The yard was wide, packed dirt scattered with stones. Buildings rose on three sides—a prayer hall, a living quarters, a storage shed. In the center, surrounded by a low stone wall, stood the well.
She had seen it in the dream. But seeing it in wa
