Anji blinked, still a bit frazzled. Less than a day ago she’d been held down and mutilated, and now here she stood, witness to good-natured, domestic bickering in this cozy little kitchen. The smell of turmeric wafted stronger in here, and she felt another wave of dizziness rack her head and her knees weaken with the mix of heat, fumes, and the throbbing pain in her hand.

“Over here,” Jared said, touching her gently on the shoulder and leading her around the island counter to a burnished wooden table shoved against the only available space across from the little area where Berip worked. The boy stared wide-eyed at Anji but turned his back to her as he began stirring once more at a giant pot. “Berip, the salve and some vinegar, if you please.”

Anji settled into a rickety rosewood chair and breathed through the pain as Jared sat at her side. He produced a folded heap of cloth that jangled as he unfurled it, revealing multiple instruments: a scalpel, razor-thin shears, a stack of cotton squares, a needle and spool of black thread, and a coarse wire brush balled into a tight knot.

“Are you sure you know how to—”

The door squealed open. Berip darted to the table’s edge and set two fist-sized glass jars onto the burnished wood, his eyes darting to Anji before settling on Jared.

“We’re almost out of this,” said Berip, tapping the lid of one the jars.

“Thank you, Berip,” Jared said, and began unscrewing the jar.

Berip grinned at Anji. “I burn myself a lot.” Then without another word he scampered around the island and back onto his stool.

Anji watched him, smiling to herself despite her pain, which seemed to be getting worse the longer she stayed awake. Jared cleared his throat and Anji whirled around to face the assortment in front of her. One jar contained a thin layer of a yellow and greasy substance, and the other held what looked to Anji like water, but burned her nostrils when Jared pried off the lid.

“This is going to sting like hells,” said Jared, dipping one of the squares into the clear liquid, “but if we don’t do something now it’s going to get infected. Whoever cauterized the wound didn’t do a great job.”

Anji’s stomach turned, and she inched back in her chair. The smell of the vinegar hit her nose, tangy and sterile and sharp. She didn’t want even a drop of that on her skin.

“I know,” said Jared. “But you’ll lose the whole hand and worse if we don’t—”

“Just do it,” Anji said.

Anji felt a shaking at her shoulder and opened her eyes. Jared sat at her side, folding his medical tools back into the cloth.

“You passed out,” said Berip across the table, slurping on a metal spoon. He giggled and slammed his hand to the wood. “Like that.”