Her mother was still alive.
The strength that had held her together these past few days gave way all at once. The sob tore from her throat before she could stop it, raw and shaking. Metz pulled her in again, tighter this time, like he could hold her upright with just the force of his arms, like he could shield her from all the years lost.
Metztli kept an arm around her as he guided her through the gate, his warmth steadying her as she moved on, shaking legs. Xochi was still crying—not sobbing, but the kind of quiet tears that didn’t stop, the kind that slipped down your face when you didn’t have the strength to hold them back. The path ahead blurred through the water in her eyes, but bits of it came into focus: cobblestone walkways glistening with dew, soft golden lanterns flickering aga
