The night was loud.

  Bendir drums.

  Ululations.

  Laughter.

  The Ait Ferou wedding stretched across the edge of the village in red-and-black Amazigh tents, their woven patterns glowing under hanging lamps. Smoke from roasted meat drifted between rows of guests. Mint tea steamed in small glasses. Caramelized plums glistened on silver trays.

  For most seven-year-olds, it would have been too much.

  For Youness...

  it was clear.

  He sat cross-legged beside Aya on a thick Berber carpet, his core locked in Sen, scalp tight in Ten. The noise did not crush him anymore. It passed around him.

  He could track embers in distant fire pits.

  He could separate voices from the crowd.

  And he could feel people.

  “You feel it too, right?” Aya whispered without looking at him. A small tea glass balanced on her knee. Her eyes stayed fixed near the front.

  “Yeah,” Youness said.

  At the center sat the bride.

  Yamina.

  White-and-silver caftan. Fresh dark henna. Nervous smile.

  But their attention was not on her.

  It was on the woman beside her.

  Norah.

  Emerald caftan.

  Perfect makeup.

  Stylish hijab.

  The most beautiful woman in the tent.

  And crying beautifully.

  “Since I learned Sen, I notice emotional shifts now,” Youness murmured, face still. “Her acting is too perfect. My stomach is warning me. She is projecting sadness... but there is no warmth in it.”

  Aya took a quiet sip. “I got the same signal. Use Ten. Listen to the women behind us.”

  Youness narrowed focus.

  Three older women nearby.

  Soft gossip.

  “...such a shame Norah still isn’t married. Her family had status before her father died.”

  “They say she rejected so many men! Yet Yamina, an orphan, gets Omar as her first proposal...”

  Youness exhaled slowly. “So jealousy is possible.”

  Aya nodded once. “At minimum, something is off.”

  Youness kept Ten tight. “Also... it still feels strange. The first time I focused Ten in the garden, I found Omar’s ring immediately.”

  Aya turned to him. “Same feeling. Since Sen and Ten, it’s like we read environments differently.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I feel like a different person.”

  “I know,” Aya said, softer now. “I felt that too. After the techniques... I felt like I became someone else from the inside.”

  Youness glanced at her. “Do you know anyone else like us?”

  She shook her head. “You’re the first I’ve met. Grandpa rarely teaches people. For most people, it’s too hard. It needs will. Real will. Usually someone pushed to the edge first.”

  “Like me?”

  “Exactly,” Aya said. “That’s why you learning so fast shocked me.”

  She tilted her chin toward the groom’s side. “And lately, I’m starting to feel who uses it and who doesn’t.”

  Youness followed her gaze. “You mean Omar?”

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  “Maybe. Just a feeling,” Aya said. “When we gave him the ring, his breathing calmed in that smooth Sen way. And when he raised his eyebrows, his forehead barely wrinkled. Could be Ten.”

  Youness blinked. “You notice everything.”

  Aya shrugged, half smug. “Also, look at him. Strong build. Straight posture. Controlled face. If he knows Sen and Ten... maybe he knows the third too.”

  Youness lowered his voice. “Could he be one of the Cheikh’s students?”

  “They already know each other,” Aya said. “So... likely.”

  “I see you two are plotting in a corner.”

  Both children jumped.

  The Cheikh stood behind them with a tea cup in hand, smiling like he had been listening the whole time.

  “Are you planning your own wedding already?” he asked. “Taking notes on the decorations?”

  “Grandpa!” Aya hissed, cheeks burning. “Not in public!”

  Youness laughed. “You can sense the whole tent, but you still can’t sense your grandpa.”

  Aya groaned. “He’s a master of discretion. He always does this. He knows the dead zones in my perception.”

  Youness looked up at the old man. “We were discussing Omar. Was he your student?”

  The Cheikh answered directly.

  “Yes. Years ago, a jealous girl cursed him. He was around sixteen. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. He was at the edge. I did roqia. During that period, I taught him the techniques.”

  Aya and Youness exchanged a quick look.

  “And now,” Aya whispered, glancing toward Norah, “we may be watching another jealous girl.”

  The music shifted.

  The crowd cheered.

  Omar stepped forward with Yamina.

  Ring exchange.

  The tent hushed.

  Youness and Aya focused.

  As Omar slid the same gold ring Youness had found onto Yamina’s finger, a spike of malice cut across the room like a blade.

  Both children snapped to Norah.

  She had already covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking as if sobbing with joy.

  But they had caught the moment before.

  Teeth clenched.

  Lips curled.

  Eyes wide.

  Not grief.

  Shock and fury.

  “You saw that?” Aya whispered, Sen hardening.

  “Yeah,” Youness breathed.

  Omar raised Yamina’s hand.

  “My family, my friends! Today almost became a disaster. I lost this ring on the road to the village. I searched for hours.”

  He looked toward the Cheikh. His voice broke.

  “But by God’s grace, the Cheikh...”

  His eyes flicked to the children.

  For a second, he clearly wanted to mention them too.

  Then he saw the Cheikh’s face.

  No smile.

  No nod.

  Just the unreadable expression of a master looking at his student.

  Message clear.

  Do not involve my children.

  Omar swallowed and continued with wet eyes.

  “...the Cheikh helped me find it. He saved my marriage before it began.”

  The tent erupted.

  “The Cheikh is here?”

  “Allah bless the Wali!”

  “Sidi, thank you!”

  Guests swarmed him. Claps. Praise. Hands on his shoulders.

  The Cheikh looked profoundly inconvenienced.

  “I never knew I was this popular,” he muttered, forcing a polite smile as elders pulled him toward the groom.

  In the chaos, Youness caught a flicker of emerald fabric moving out the back.

  “Where did she go?”

  Aya narrowed her eyes. “That slick girl used the distraction. We follow.”

  “It’s dark outside.”

  “When she passed us earlier, I memorized her perfume,” Aya said, tapping her nose. “Rosewater. Bitter almond. Move.”

  They slipped under the tent flap into the cool night.

  Aya led.

  The scent was faint.

  But steady.

  They followed dirt paths away from the music.

  Ten minutes later, they reached Norah’s traditional clothing shop near the outer tents.

  Raised voices came from inside.

  The children crept along the exterior wall and crouched beneath a wooden window.

  “How did my spell fail?!” Norah screamed. Glass shattered. “That filthy sorcerer scammed me! I made him lose the ring! How did he find it?!”

  Youness and Aya looked at each other.

  They were right.

  “That filthy Cheikh interfered!” Norah shouted, voice twisting with rage. “I need something fast. I’ll ruin this wedding! It should be me, not her! I’m more beautiful! I’m from a noble family! She’s an orphan with no roots!”

  Aya whispered quickly, “She’s acting now. I need to look in. Jump over my back.”

  Youness frowned. “I’m not jumping on a girl. I might hurt you.”

  Aya rolled her eyes. “Then cup your hands and lift me.”

  He crouched, interlocked his hands, and boosted her toward the cracked window.

  “What do you see?” he whispered, arms shaking.

  “You’re shaking too much,” Aya hissed. “Flex Sen harder. Arms and legs too.”

  Youness tightened core, thighs, forearms.

  “I’m not heavy,” Aya muttered. “Your posture is bad.”

  She peered inside.

  “She pulled her hijab off in a hurry. Wow... beautiful golden hair.”

  Golden hair.

  Anwar flashed across Youness’s mind.

  One eye.

  Blood.

  The cave.

  His Sen slipped for a heartbeat.

  Then snapped back.

  “Wait,” Aya whispered. “She’s preparing something on the table. Lift me higher.”

  “I’m at my limit,” Youness grunted.

  “Just a little!”

  Inside, Norah raised a small vial and smiled like a demon.

  “This is it! This is how I ruin the wedding! Mouhahahah!”

  The laugh was so absurd, so theatrical, Aya nearly lost control.

  A snort escaped.

  Her foot slipped.

  Crash.

  She fell backward and took Youness down into dry brush.

  Inside, silence.

  Then footsteps.

  “Is someone there?” Norah’s voice turned cold.

  Aya scrambled off Youness. “Oh, crap. We’re dead.”

  “What do we do?!” Youness whispered, Sen breaking.

  Aya’s face hardened.

  “Cry.”

  “What?”

  Smack.

  Her small hand cracked across his cheek.

  Before he processed the sting, the door swung open and a long shadow swallowed them.

  Norah stood in the doorway, hair visible where she had wrapped her hijab around her head and shoulders in a hurry, pure instinct. Her eyes still carried malice.

  Aya detonated first.

  “WAAAAAAAAAH!”

  Instant tears.

  Perfect six-year-old panic.

  “IT’S DARK! I’M SCARED!”

  Youness understood instantly. He curled in, used real pain, and launched into loud hiccuping sobs.

  Norah froze.

  The murder in her face drained into confusion.

  “Oh... little ones? Are you lost?”

  Aya sniffled hard, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and looked up with huge wet eyes.

  “We were playing near the tents! Then we saw a beautiful lady walking away, so we followed you because your dress was so pretty! Then we got lost in the dark and heard a scary noise!”

  Norah relaxed.

  Flattery soothed paranoia.

  “Oh, poor babies. Don’t worry. It was me. I stepped out to prepare a secret surprise for the bride and groom. Everything is fine.”

  She knelt beside them, voice dripping sugar.

  “Come inside before you catch cold.”

  Youness kept his head down and sniffled as she guided them in.

  But under the tears, his stomach was stone.

  Sen locked.

  They had just walked into the witch’s den.