"H-holy shit..." I whispered.

  My hands were still trembling. I looked over at my mom, and she looked nothing like herself—her shoulders slumped, her face drained of color, eyes unfocused like she was still standing in front of Car with a gun aimed at her chest.

  When those women stormed in and raised their weapons, I swear my heart stopped. For a split second, I was sure that was it. That we were all going to die right there.

  And worse than that—I thought I'd never see Miguel again.

  "Go to your room, Julianna," my mom said quietly, her voice tight, strained like she was holding herself together with tape and willpower alone.

  I nodded without arguing. I didn't trust my voice anyway.

  The hallway felt longer than usual as I walked down it, my thoughts racing, colliding into each other. Is Miguel okay? Did they threaten him? Did Car say something bad to him? My stomach twisted with every step.

  I pushed my bedroom door open.

  Miguel was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, staring down at a thick stack of money in his hands. The same money. Car's money. It looked wrong there, like a stain that didn't belong in this room.

  He looked... empty. Not crying. Not shaking. Just hollow, like something inside him had gone quiet.

  "You know that's dirty money, right..." I said softly.

  My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.

  He nodded once. Slow. Distant. Like the answer didn't really matter.

  That hurt more than if he'd argued.

  I wanted to cross the room. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, press his head into my shoulder, tell him he was safe now—even if I wasn't sure that was true. Every instinct in me screamed to touch him, to comfort him, to keep him here with me.

  But my body was frozen.

  After st night... After what he told me. After what he went through.

  I knew better.

  So I stayed where I was, hands clenched at my sides, heart aching with the effort of holding myself back. Comfort shouldn't feel like a threat. And with Miguel... I didn't want to be another reason he felt trapped.

  But then it hit me like a punch to the gut... my own mother had marked him. She cimed him before I even had a chance to stake my own territory.

  She stained him with her touch, her presence... and in that moment, my hatred for her burned hotter than ever, a dark fire raging in my chest.

  Miguel had to be mine again. I had to recim him, erase her from his skin, his mind, his soul.

  Then we'd escape, run far away to some distant, foreign nd where no one would find us. We'd build a life together, just the two of us, bound forever in a pce untouched by her shadow...

  "S-So, what are you gonna do... are you staying here?" I asked, my voice trembling as I sat close to him, so close I could feel the heat of his body. My eyes searched his, desperate for an answer. "I don't want you to leave, Miguel..."

  He looked away, his jaw tight, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy. "I have nowhere else to go... unless I want to..." He stopped himself mid-sentence, the words hanging in the air like a bitter fog.

  My heart clenched—did he really mean what I thought he did? The pain in his voice cut me deep. He was broken, lost, and I knew I was the only one who could piece him back together.

  I had to heal him, make him whole again, make him mine and only mine.

  "D-Do you... want to go into the city?" I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. "Just look around. Maybe find something you want. It's on me."

  The words hung between us, fragile, like they might shatter if I pushed too hard.

  Miguel finally looked up. His eyes weren't bright—not happy—but they weren't empty either. There was something there, something flickering and uncertain, like a candle that hadn't gone out yet but was close.

  He hesitated. Just a second. Long enough for my stomach to twist.

  "...Sure," he said at st.

  That single word felt heavier than it should've, like permission, like trust.

  I stood slowly, making sure not to crowd him, then extended my hand—not grabbing, not pulling. Just offering.

  For a heartbeat, I thought he wouldn't take it.

  Then his fingers brushed mine, tentative at first, before curling around my hand properly. His grip wasn't tight. It wasn't desperate. Just... there.

  Warm. Real.

  I smiled, small and careful, afraid that anything bigger might scare him off.

  "Okay," I said softly. "We'll just walk. No rush."

  He nodded, pushing himself up, still holding onto me as if grounding himself through the contact. At st, it felt like we were finally moving forward, even if we didn't know where we were going yet.

  Together, we stepped toward the door.

  Not running. Not escaping.

  Just walking—one step at a time.

  -

  I tugged Miguel along the sidewalk, the te afternoon sun beating down on the concrete. He didn't let go of my hand—not once—and that small fact made my chest feel tight in a way I couldn't quite name.

  Whether it was comfort, trust, or just habit, I didn't question it. I didn't want to.

  The street was alive around us: vendors calling out, cars rolling past, music leaking from open storefronts. It felt normal. Almost too normal.

  He slowed suddenly, his grip tightening just a little as he pointed ahead. "Look," he said softly. "Those kids are selling chocote bars... can we get some?"

  I gnced over. Two kids stood near the corner of the pza, a cardboard box slung around one of their necks, chocote bars stacked neatly inside. Their clothes were worn but clean, their faces shiny with sweat from the heat.

  "Yeah," I said without hesitation. "Of course."

  We walked over, and I switched to Spanish automatically, the words rolling out easy.

  "?Cuánto por dos barras de chocote?"

  The girl looked up at me from under the brim of her hat, squinting against the sun.

  "Diez pesos," she replied.

  I fished the coins from my pocket and handed them over. She smiled—quick, practiced—and passed us two oversized chocote bars, the wrappers slightly melted at the edges.

  I handed one to Miguel.

  He unwrapped it immediately and took a bite, chocote smearing just a little at the corner of his mouth. His shoulders rexed as he chewed, like the world had softened by a fraction.

  I watched him for a second longer than I meant to.

  For that moment—standing there with sticky fingers, traffic humming nearby, sunlight glinting off cracked pavement—he didn't look afraid. He didn't look broken.

  He looked absolutely adorable and somewhat happy.

  "Can we get tamales?" he asked then, quieter this time, like he wasn't sure if he was pushing his luck.

  I didn't even hesitate. Saying no to him felt impossible in a way I couldn't expin—like my body would short-circuit if I tried.

  "Of course," I said quickly. "I swear I saw a pce selling some when we walked here."

  I tightened my grip on his hand and gently pulled him back across the pza, weaving between people and street vendors until the noise softened into the steady hum of traffic.

  He didn't protest, didn't rush either—just followed, finishing off the st of his chocote. His gaze drifted everywhere, like his mind had finally found something neutral to rest on.

  I liked that. I wanted him distracted. Safe inside the moment.

  We stopped in front of a small storefront, the windows fogged from steam, the smell of masa and pork thick in the air. Inside, it was warm—too warm—and the counter was worn smooth from years of hands resting against it.

  I ordered for him without asking. Two pork tamales. I remembered the text he'd sent months ago, te at night, half-joking about how much he missed them. The memory stuck with me more than it should have.

  As the woman behind the counter wrapped them up, she gnced at Miguel and smiled.

  "Qué bonito se mira el muchacho," she said casually, almost fondly.

  My chest hurt.

  The words weren't sharp. They weren't meant to be. But something ugly stirred anyway, sudden and instinctive, like a reflex I didn't want to acknowledge. My jaw set before I could stop it.

  "No te importa," I replied ftly.

  The woman blinked, clearly taken aback, then gave a small shrug and went back to her work, sliding the bag across the counter without another word.

  I exhaled slowly and turned to Miguel.

  He hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he didn't care. He was standing near the doorway, looking out at the street like the world beyond the gss was more interesting than anything inside. Good.

  I handed him the warm paper bag. "Here," I said, softer now. "Let's go. I know a park nearby."

  As we stepped back outside, the heat giving way to a breeze, the tension in my chest hadn't fully faded. People looked too long. Smiled too easily.

  I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just concern.

  But deep down, a quiet thought lingered—uncomfortable and uninvited.

  If this was how people looked at him now...

  I wasn't sure how long I could ignore it.

  Miguel needed to be cimed soon.

  I caught the way girls looked at him as we walked—quick gnces that lingered a second too long, eyes trailing him before snapping away. I met every one of them with a stare sharp enough to cut. One by one, they noticed. One by one, they looked away. Good once again.

  The park came into view, a stretch of bright green cutting through the gray of the street, ughter drifting toward us on the warm air. Just before we reached it, Miguel's grip on my hand tightened.

  "I'm scared to go back, Julie..." he whispered.

  The words hit harder than I expected.

  I guided him toward a bench beneath a tree, the shade dappling the ground beneath us. As soon as we sat, he leaned into me without thinking, his head resting against my shoulder like it was the most natural pce in the world.

  He kept eating his tamale slowly, mechanically, like the motion itself was meditation.

  "I know," I murmured. "I know, Miguel."

  I hesitated, then added softly, "But don't worry. I'll protect you. I won't let her get to you again. Not without going through me first."

  His breath hitched. I felt it before I heard it—a small, fragile sound he tried to swallow back. I lifted my hand and rubbed his shoulder in slow circles, steady, careful, giving him space while still being there.

  We sat like that, watching the park breathe around us. Kids ran past with shrieks of ughter, couples talked quietly on nearby benches, fingers intertwined, existing in a world that felt impossibly normal.

  "Thank you, Julie,"

  ———

  Usually I don't write on weekends cause I don't wanna burn myself out but two people donated and I feel bad, so this is the only time I'm doing this, if you donate on the weekend, from now on I'll do the extra chapters on the Monday that comes after the weekend. <3

  Another one is coming tomorrow as well.

  ———

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