Cyrus Albright burned the list of names once he had memorized it. Three angels, two demons. They killed his mother and father when he was a boy, and for twenty years he had waited in this swamp to grow strong enough to hunt them. Now he stood on the porch of his reed-and-timber home, a pack on his back, staring at the black water. He would not sleep under this roof again. He stepped down onto the mud. His boots sank. Around the pilings, a cluster of toothed plants swayed toward him, their red mouths opening. He had fed them for years. He did not feed them today. He walked past. A voice stopped him. "You're leaving." A girl sat on a stump at the edge of the reeds. Red hair stuck up like flames. She was the drifter he had pulled from the water three winters back, half-drowned and snarling. He had let her stay because she had nowhere else. Sham Von Dosa. Her mother had sold her as a child. She trusted no one, and she had never once thanked him. "Yes," Cyrus said. She stood. A small flame curled around her fingers without her asking it to. It always did when she was upset. "You're going after them. The ones who killed your parents." She spat into the water. "You'll die." "Maybe." "Take me." Cyrus looked at her hand. The fire there jumped higher, then died, then jumped again. She could not control it. Neither could anyone near it. "No," he said. "You'd burn everything I need to stay hidden." Her face twisted. "I burned that man who came for you last spring. You didn't mind then." He had not forgotten. She had saved his life and nearly taken it in the same moment. That was the problem. "Stay here," Cyrus said. "The house is yours now." He turned and walked into the reeds. The water rose to his knees. He heard her behind him, splashing, catching up. He did not slow. "They hunt in threes," she said, breathing hard. "Angels and demons don't work together. But yours did. Doesn't that scare you?" It did. He said nothing. "I know things," she went on. "About the burned places. Where their kind gather. My mother sold me to people who worshipped them." Her voice cracked. "I've seen their marks." Cyrus stopped. Cold water pressed against his legs. He had five names and no map. She had a map and no reason left to stay. He faced her. The flame in her palm steadied, just for a second, as if it were listening. "If you burn me," he said, "I'll leave you where you fall." "Deal," Sham said, and grinned. They walked out of the swamp together as the sun dropped. Behind them, the reed house stood empty. Cyrus had a hunter's list, and now he had a guide who could not be trusted, and a fire he could not put out.