***Dragon's POV***
Ma’s cabin smells like safety—cinnamon, conopio (anise), and the sharp tang of her anger. Dru’s already trapped in a hug, Marisol’s hands patting her down like she’s checking for broken bones.
“¡Ay, mi’ja! (Oh, my daughter!)” Ma clucks, pinching Dru’s waist. “You’re wasting to bones! Mijo, you starving her?”
Dru rolls her eyes at me. “He tried. Burned the tostones (fried plantains) so bad they cried.”
Ma whips out a raw egg, her cuarzo (quartz) necklace glowing under the veladoras (devotional candles). “Cállate (Hush). Bad spirits cling to you." She starts muttering a chant while waving the egg over Dru's head like a deranged choir conductor. I tried to stifle a laugh.
Dru mouths *save me*, but I grin. “Last time she used a rooster. Count your blessings.”
“¡Bas
