I glanced around. Zetty stood, arms crossed over his big chest and his eyes trained on me. I’d never seen Zetty dressed in anything except his traditional Tibetan clothes—a long red yak wool wrap and baggy black pants tucked into short leather boots. He now wore, like the others, a pair of baggy board shorts. His were red. The handwoven, multicolored sheath crossed his bare chest, encasing the traditional Nepali knife he never went anywhere without. He didn’t say a word. He, too, had a pulse point that drew my attention. His hand slipped up and covered the spot; then he glared at me. His shiny black brows were furrowed, and the unique red and yellow tattooed squares and dots that marked him as a once-Shiva follower sat stark against his tanned forehead. They made him look unapproachable; scary. And I’d apparently done something to piss him off.

Seth pulled me out of thought and into a tight hug. “I love you, Ri,” he said against my ear. “Swear to God, I’ll never leave you again.”

That boy always could melt my heart. I hugged him fiercely back. “You won’t have to,” I assured him, even though his concern really concerned me. I pulled back and studied him. “Now go. Eat. I’ll be right behind you.”

Seth held my gaze for several seconds. “You probably won’t be, but it’s okay. I’ll be there when you’re ready.” He smiled, presenting a sincere, winsome look that made him seem mature beyond his fifteen years. Then he turned to Zetty. “Let’s go, Zet-Man.” The two took off up the beach, Seth’s tanned body alongside Zetty’s, well, huge one, melding into the afterlight. I stared after my brother, my jaw dropping in wonder at the speed at which Seth ran—and how Zetty could almost keep up. The mystical man from Nepal had a long black braid that whipped from side to side as he ran. I stared until my vision blurred. “Whoa,” I muttered, and shook my head. “Weird.” In the distance, I saw another campfire, larger, close to the shore, its orange hues and blue sparks reaching toward the darkening sky. A small figure huddled close to the flames. Squinting, I made out the colorful fabric patches of Estelle’s familiar billowy skirt.