When my chest stopped burning and my hands quit shaking, I finally looked at her.
That's when I realized she was naked.
She crouched with the weapons I'd shoved her way, arms crossed over her chest, knees pulled in tight. Dirt smeared her skin. Her eyes darted everywhere, wide and frantic.
I hadn't thought this far. I hadn't expected to find her. I hadn't expected to stop anything. I didn't bring clothes.
The least I could do was give her mine.
I loosened my maxtlatl and pulled it off. The night air hit me cold, awkward. My face flushed hot.
Her eyes widened when she saw me undress. Panic lit up her face.
She backed away, clutching the weapons tighter. "No—don't—"
"Stop," I hissed, tossing the cloth at her feet before she screamed loud enough to wake the whole city. "It's for you."
She froze, staring. Then looked at the maxtlatl, then at me.
"I wasn't—" My voice cracked. I took a breath and kept it low. "I wasn't expecting this. I don't have extra clothes. Just take it."
For a long second she didn't move. Then, still tense, still watching me like I was another enemy, she picked up the cloth and tied it around her waist.
Her shoulders loosened just slightly, but her eyes stayed sharp.
We sat there in silence for a while. The screams from the camp had faded into the night. The only sounds were dogs barking in the distance and my own heartbeat still pounding in my ears.
I figured small talk was better than sitting here in silence, both of us on edge.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She hesitated, then muttered, "Teyalli."
I nodded. "How did you end up here?"
She looked away. Her jaw tightened. "They took me. Days ago. I thought they'd kill me. But they… didn't." Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to explain.
I swallowed hard.
"I've got a group," I said after a moment. "Twelve survivors. Mostly women. Children. An old man. Two young men. We hide near the aqueduct. It isn't much, but it's better than this."
Her eyes flicked back to me. Suspicion mixed with curiosity.
"And you'll bring me there?" she asked.
"If you want."
She went quiet for a while. Then, almost a whisper:
"You killed one of them. Aren't you worried? The other one will come back. With others."
I shook my head. "He won't."
Her brow furrowed.
"They were stabbed," I said flatly. "And my weapons… weren't clean."
She didn't understand at first. Then her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then closed.
I didn't go into details. I didn't have to. She knew enough about wounds.
"They won't survive long," I finished.
She stared at me, tense again, but not with fear of what had been done to her. Fear of me, maybe. Or maybe just the realization of how ugly survival had become.
I didn't look at her. I just stared at the dirt, my stomach twisting.
We stayed like that for a while. She clutched the weapons. I sat half-naked, skin crawling from the night air, hollow inside.
This wasn't mercy. This wasn't justice.
It was just survival.
When we made it back, the fire was down to embers. Most of the group was dozing, curled up against the stone. A few heads lifted when they heard footsteps.
Teyalli froze just outside the circle of light. Her eyes darted from face to face. Women. Children. The old man. Two skinny young men.
They stared back. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Just blank, tired.
Cihuatzin was the first to speak. "Another one?" Her tone was sharp, suspicious.
"She was taken," I said. My voice was hoarse from the night. "I found her."
That was all I gave.
The others didn't move. A few muttered. The old man rubbed his face and sighed. One of the boys whispered, "Another mouth."
Cihuatzin's eyes narrowed. "We can barely feed who we have."
I clenched my jaw. "I know."
The silence stretched. Teyalli shifted, clutching the weapons she carried. Her new maxtlatl hung loose on her hips. She looked like she wanted to bolt.
I broke the silence. "I killed two of the ones who had her."
That got attention. Heads lifted. A few eyes widened.
"You?" Cihuatzin asked.
"Yeah." I swallowed hard. "They were distracted. I cut one's throat. Stabbed the other in the ribs. He got away, but he won't last long."
"Why?" The old man's voice cracked. Not angry. Just tired.
"Because of what I did to my weapons," I said.
Confused looks. Frowns.
I forced the words out. "I pissed and shit on them. Left them dirty. If anyone gets cut deep enough, the wound rots. They die slow."
The group went still.
Nobody spoke for a long moment. The only sound was the baby coughing in its sleep.
Finally, Cihuatzin broke the silence. "That's… vile."
I met her eyes. "It works. I can't fight them straight. I can't duel warriors. This is the only way."
Her lip curled like she wanted to argue, but she didn't.
The old man muttered a prayer under his breath. One of the women looked away, face pale. The boys glanced at each other, uncertain.
But nobody said I was wrong.
I turned back to Teyalli. "You can stay. But you pull your weight. Help with food, water, anything. We don't have room for dead weight."
She nodded quick, still tense. "I will."
Cihuatzin snorted. "We'll see."
I sat down against the wall, exhausted. My body ached, my mind felt like it was splitting, but I forced myself to stay upright.
Teyalli curled near the fire, wrapping the maxtlatl tighter around herself. The others kept glancing at her, then back at me.
No one thanked me. No one welcomed her.
It was just another night.
Another mouth.
Teyalli's first morning with us was quiet.
The women looked at her in that way people do when they already know your story without hearing it. Some nodded at her, some touched her shoulder, some just looked away. They'd either lived it themselves or seen it happen enough times to imagine the rest.
They sympathized. Of course they did. But sympathy didn't put food in the pot.
By midday, I could feel the shift. The old man didn't say it out loud, but his eyes lingered on the fire like he was already measuring what was left. One of the mothers whispered about smaller rations. The boys kept to themselves, avoiding her.
It wasn't hatred. It wasn't blame. It was math.
Thirteen mouths.
And Cihuatzin didn't let me forget it.
"You should've thought before bringing her here," she said that night, her tone sharp as stone. "We can barely eat now."
"She would've been dead," I said.
"Or worse," she shot back. "And now we all share her burden."
Her words made my chest heat. My fists clenched. I wanted to scream at her, to throw everything I'd been doing in her face — scavenging at night, setting traps, training until my body gave out.
But I held it down.
"I'm trying," I said instead, voice low. "It's not easy scavenging alone for thirteen people. I bring back what I can, but it's never enough."
She folded her arms. "Then maybe don't bring back more mouths to feed."
I looked around the fire. The others didn't speak, but I saw it on their faces. They agreed with her.
I exhaled slow through my nose. "It'd be less of a strain if I wasn't the only one doing it. The two young men could help. They're not children. They can walk. They can carry."
The boys froze, eyes flicking up from the ground.
Cihuatzin's eyes narrowed. "You think they'll survive out there? You think they won't run the first time they hear boots on stone?"
I met her glare. "Better to find out now than wait until we're all starving."
The old man coughed. "He's not wrong."
That was enough to end it for the night.
But I could still feel her eyes on me, sharp as knives.
Later, when the fire was low, I sat with my back against the wall, arms sore, stomach empty, and thought about it.
Thirteen mouths.
And me, one man.
No matter how much I trained, no matter how much I stole, I couldn't carry them all alone forever.
Something had to give.