(Car pov)

  Smoke still hung low over the field.

  The air smelled like burnt metal and dirt torn apart by boots and bullets. My ears rang faintly from the st shots I fired, the recoil still lingering in my wrists.

  She dropped seconds ago.

  One clean shot to the head.

  Now she y sprawled in the grass, blood spreading dark and thick beneath her skull, staining the soil. Her rifle had fallen just out of reach of her hand.

  My eye twitched.

  I'd stopped counting days ago.

  Stopped counting bodies too.

  It felt like I'd eradicated thousands of them— raid after raid, convoy after convoy—and yet I'd heard nothing.

  No location.

  No message.

  No proof of life.

  No Miguel.

  I holstered my gun slowly, the click of it sliding into pce sharp in the heavy silence. My chest rose and fell hard, adrenaline still flooding through me with nowhere to go.

  I lowered myself onto the dirty grass, not caring that it soaked through my pants. My hands rested on my knees as I stared at the woman bleeding out in front of me.

  Another soldier.

  Another dead end.

  Her blood crept toward my boots.

  I kicked her body once, the motion sudden and fueled by something deeper than anger.

  Frustration.

  Helplessness.

  Rage at the silence.

  "I just want to get ahold of La Mencha... fuck!" I snapped, kicking the corpse again, harder this time.

  The name burned in my mouth.

  If I could reach the top.

  If I could drag the architect of all this into the light.

  Maybe then this nightmare would crack open.

  But every time I climbed one rung higher, the dder disappeared.

  They scattered.

  They hid.

  They sacrificed foot soldiers like this one to slow me down.

  And Miguel—

  I clenched my jaw, forcing the image out of my mind before it weakened me.

  The field was quiet now except for the distant movement of my own people securing the perimeter.

  I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands csped tightly together.

  "I am not losing him," I muttered to myself, voice low and shaking despite the control I tried to project.

  The wind shifted, carrying away the smoke.

  But it didn't carry away the fury.

  And it didn't bring me any closer to the one person I was tearing the earth apart to find.

  The wind continued moved through the field, bending the tall grass around the fallen bodies.

  "Jefa, tenemos noticias para ti..." (boss, I've got news for you)

  The voice cut through the haze in my head.

  I turned sharply. One of my guards stood a few meters back, helmet tucked under her arm, breathing slightly heavier than usual. Not from battle.

  From urgency.

  I pushed myself up from the ground slowly, brushing dirt from my hands. My muscles protested, exhaustion creeping in now that the shooting had stopped.

  "This better be good," I muttered, my voice low and rough.

  She didn't smile.

  Didn't reassure me.

  That alone made my pulse pick up.

  I started walking toward the armored truck parked near the edge of the clearing. Its engine was still running, a low rumble vibrating through the air. The side door stood open, revealing radio equipment and a portable command console glowing inside.

  My boots felt heavier with each step.

  Hope is dangerous.

  Hope makes you reckless.

  The guard climbed in first, grabbing a tablet from the console. I followed, ducking inside the vehicle. The metal floor cnged under my weight as the door shut beside me, muting the outside world.

  She handed me the tablet.

  "Leaked by an insider," she said. "She wants to negotiate."

  My fingers tightened around the device.

  On the screen was a grainy still image pulled from a security camera feed.

  Concrete walls.

  Harsh overhead light.

  A metal cart in the corner.

  And—

  My breath caught.

  Pink.

  A faint glimmer at someone's chest.

  Miguel.

  Sitting against the wall, bnket around his shoulders.

  Alive.

  The image was timestamped.

  Recent.

  Very recent.

  For a moment, everything in me went still.

  No rage.

  No noise.

  Just focus sharpening like a bde being drawn.

  "Where?" I asked quietly.

  The guard swallowed.

  "Warehouse district outside irapuato."

  I stared at the image again, memorizing every detail.

  Concrete.

  Single bulb.

  Cart of electronics.

  They were keeping him stable.

  Not hurting him.

  Because he was leverage.

  Good.

  That meant they needed him breathing.

  I handed the tablet back slowly.

  "Mobilize a strike team," I said, voice steady but colder than before. "Silent approach. No explosives near the holding area."

  My jaw tightened.

  "They don't get time to move him. And get me on call with that woman."

  I turned the engine on, smming the gas pedal, the field no longer feeling like a battlefield.

  It felt like a stepping stone.

  "Hold on, Miguel," I whispered under my breath.

  Because now—

  I finally had a direction.

  ——

  (Miguel pov)

  "So what's your name..." I asked quietly, gncing over at her.

  She had been the only constant in this room for almost a week now. Not always present—she stepped out for breaks, for shifts, to bring food—but she always came back. Same boots. Same steady posture. Same watchful eyes.

  "Tina," she replied after a moment. "Tina Giménez."

  Her voice wasn't cold.

  Just simple.

  I nodded slowly and looked back down at my feet. The white socks I'd been wearing when I was taken were no longer white. Dust and concrete stains clung to the fabric. It was strange, the small humiliations you start noticing when your world shrinks to four walls.

  "I should've asked a while ago... sorry," I muttered. "Being in a concrete box takes a toll on you..."

  I let out a small breath and gnced down at the neckce resting against my colrbone. The pink diamonds were one of the only things in this room that still felt like me.

  For a second, neither of us said anything.

  Then I felt her hand rest gently on my shoulder.

  I tensed instinctively—just for a heartbeat—but it faded quickly.

  Her touch wasn't invasive. It wasn't ciming or calcuting.

  It was... steady.

  "I understand," she said.

  There was no mockery in it. No manipution that I could immediately detect. Just quiet acknowledgment.

  I swallowed.

  "It messes with your head," I admitted. "The waiting. Not knowing."

  My voice felt smaller than I intended.

  Her thumb moved slightly against the fabric of my shirt—not stroking, not lingering—just grounding.

  "You're handling it better than most would," she said.

  I let out a weak half-ugh. "Doesn't feel like it."

  The room was still the same. Concrete. Harsh light. Metal door.

  But for the first time in days, it didn't feel completely empty.

  And that scared me a little too.

  Because getting used to comfort in captivity...

  That's another kind of trap.

  "Just wait a bit more... alright?"

  Tina's voice was quiet when she said it, almost careful.

  She stood up after, brushing the dust from her pants. For a second it looked like she might say something else—like she was debating it—but instead she turned and walked toward the door.

  The metal tch clicked.

  The door shut.

  And I was alone again.

  "I guess... whatever that means," I muttered, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.

  Wait a bit more.

  A bit more for what?

  Rescue?

  A deal?

  Another fake sale?

  Hope had become something fragile here. It rose at the smallest hint of change—a softer tone, a longer conversation—and then colpsed just as fast when the room returned to silence.

  I exhaled slowly, leaning my head back against the concrete wall. The chill seeped through my hair, into my scalp.

  The overhead light buzzed faintly.

  I rubbed my hands through my hair, fingers catching slightly on knots I hadn't bothered fixing.

  "Please..." I whispered, voice cracking despite my attempt to keep it steady. "If there's a god out there... just let me have something good for once."

  It wasn't dramatic.

  It wasn't shouted.

  Just tired.

  So tired.

  I wasn't asking for riches. Or power. Or revenge.

  Just something that didn't end in pain.

  Something that sted.

  My eyes drifted down to the neckce resting against my chest. I held it lightly between my fingers, the small diamonds cool against my skin.

  "I don't even need perfect," I murmured. "Just... safe."

  The word hung in the air.

  Safe.

  The room didn't answer.

  But I stayed there, sitting against the wall, breathing slowly—trying to hold onto the smallest ember of hope before it went out completely.

  ——