Their rule was simple: never tell a new story without first remembering an old one.

Manel took a deep breath. “The publisher said they would pay us. Not much. But enough to fix the temple roof. To buy medicine for Siri’s leg. To send Kavi back to school.” She looked at each of them. “The stories don’t die if they are written. They die if no one tells them — or listens.”

Kavi laughed, a real laugh, bright and sudden. “So the group never ends.”