Chapter 4

It had been about a week since Isa got sick, and I was glad to see her bouncing back to her usual self—teasing, bright-eyed, and way too comfortable stealing bites off my plate when she thought I wasn’t looking. Luz and I still passed our letters each night like clockwork, folding little pieces of paper into corners of hope. I didn’t know what I would’ve done without them. Without her.

We were having lunch in the common room, all four of us squeezed around the little plastic table like some odd family. The food was simple—some kind of rice and beans combo with a half-ripe mango split between us—but none of us complained anymore. We’d long since figured out how to make meals feel like something other than survival. Laughter helped. So did talking about things that had nothing to do with locked doors and guards.

Marisol had just finished telling a story about her old accounting professor who used to fall asleep mid-lecture when Luz, absently stirring her rice, asked Mateo, “So do you all grow mangoes around here or bring them in?”

It was such an innocent question. Mateo, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shrugged and said, “They don’t grow well here in Zaca—” He stopped himself. Froze. His eyes flicked toward us like he was trying to gauge whether we’d caught it. Then he cleared his throat. “Doesn’t matter. Eat up.”

We all exchanged glances, but no one said a word. Not until the guards switched shifts and we were left alone for a few minutes—just enough time to huddle close in the girls’ room while pretending to tidy up.

“Zaca,” Marisol said, keeping her voice low. “That has to mean Zacatecas.”

Isa sat cross-legged on her bed, nodding quickly. “That’s in central Mexico, right? Like ... far.”

“Hours and hours from the border,” Luz added, her tone calm but alert. “We knew we were far, but that narrows it down.”

I ran a hand through my hair, thinking. “It’s something. Better than nothing. If we ever get the chance to signal someone—or if we ever get out—that detail could be critical. It’s a state, not a town, so it’s still vague. But it’s a start.”

Marisol’s eyes locked with mine. “So maybe it’s time we start thinking less about where we are ... and more about how to leave.”

No one argued.

Because even the faintest thread of information—one slip of a tongue—was something to grip onto. And in a place like this, hope was a currency more valuable than food or water.

The morning light was weak, spilling through the cracked shutters in dusty lines. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up, joints stiff from another night on the thin mattress. My routine had become automatic: shirt, pants, socks. I bent down to grab my shoes—

And that’s when the damn thing moved.

A fat cockroach shot out from the shadows beside the left shoe, antennae twitching, legs scattering like it was fueled by pure malice.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, stumbling backward. Heart pounding, I snatched up the other shoe and hurled it across the room. It clattered hard against the far wall, nowhere near the bug. The roach vanished into a crack, victorious.

I stood there, shoe-less, trying to catch my breath. My pulse was still hammering like I’d just stared down a gun barrel.

The door creaked, and Marisol poked her head in. Isa was right behind her, wide-eyed. Luz lingered just outside, her hair a little tangled from sleep.

“What happened?” Marisol asked, scanning the room.

“Are you okay?” Isa added, almost breathless.

I sighed and pointed at the wall. “Cockroach.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Marisol’s face broke into a grin. “Wait. You screamed ... because of a bug?”

“I didn’t scream,” I shot back, even though I definitely had.

Isa giggled, covering her mouth. “And you missed. You threw a shoe and missed.”

Marisol was laughing now too, leaning against the doorframe. “Ay, pobrecito. First the cartel, now a damn cockroach. Truly, you suffer.”

Meanwhile, the still-giggling Isa began to sing. “La cucaracha, la cucaracha... ”

Heat rose in my face. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the words got lost somewhere between frustration and embarrassment.

Luz hadn’t said a thing. She was just standing there, watching me with this soft little smile tugging at her lips. No teasing, no laughter—just quiet amusement, and maybe something else in her eyes. Like she saw past the ridiculousness of the moment, straight into the vulnerability I was trying to shove down.

I bent to retrieve my shoe, shaking my head. “Glad I could provide some entertainment.”

“Better than breakfast,” Marisol said, still chuckling as she herded Isa away.

When they were gone, I glanced toward the door. Luz was still there, just for a second longer. Our eyes locked, and she gave the smallest nod, almost like reassurance, before slipping out into the hall.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I pulled my shoes on—still wary of what might be hiding inside.

Later in the day, we had another quick meeting during shift change. We waited until the shuffle of boots and murmured voices outside the door told us the guards were changing places. For a few precious minutes we had the space, and the risk was worth it.

The four of us ducked into the girls’ room under the pretense of reorganizing blankets. Isa and Marisol took up their usual post on one bed, sitting cross-legged, facing the wall in case a guard glanced in through the window. I sat beside Luz on another bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath her, and the warmth of her knee brushing against mine made it almost impossible for him to keep his focus. But I tried.

“Zacatecas,” Marisol said quietly, picking up the thread from earlier. “We need to assume we’re somewhere in the countryside. Could be a ranch, a warehouse—whatever. But it means any potential help is a long way off.”

“Long way off,” Isa echoed, chewing her bottom lip. “But now we know for sure.”

I nodded. “It’s not much, but it’s something. If we ever make contact with someone outside—if we get even a single chance to pass a message—Zacatecas helps.”

“But how do we get to that point?” Luz asked gently. Her voice was always measured, never hurried. “We still don’t know the number of guards. The schedule. The layout beyond the fence.”

I turned slightly toward her, heart beating just a little too fast from how close she was. Her voice seemed to steady something inside me. “Right. We need intel. We have to map this place in our heads. How many buildings. Where the shadows fall. We need routines.”

“And we need to keep our eyes on Mateo,” Marisol added. “He’s ... not exactly loyal. Not totally checked out, either. But he’s hesitant. Hesitation is useful.”

“He didn’t report his own slip-up earlier,” Isa said. “Or if he did, no one came to punish us for it.”

“So, he’s afraid,” I said. “Maybe of getting in trouble. Maybe of the others. Either way, he’s a weak link.”

They all sat with that for a moment. My hand brushed lightly against Luz’s, and she didn’t pull away. My heart began to race.

“We’re not ready yet,” Marisol said finally. “But we’re getting there. We have pieces of the puzzle. We just need to stay alert. Stay patient.”

My eyes met Luz’s – for just a split second. Her expression was soft but serious, a little crease between her brows. She gave the faintest nod.

“We’ll find a way,” I said.

And the following day, we had a plan. It was Marisol who first suggested it, but we all got on board right away. The moment we got together on it, the air in the room shifted. Even though nothing had physically changed, it felt different—like we were finally shifting out of passive survival mode into something closer to action. Still no guarantees, but it was a start.

The idea was simple: get Mateo to let one of us outside. Not far. Just a few minutes—maybe under the pretense of needing fresh air, or some chore. Just long enough to see what was out there. Was there a gate? A road? How many buildings? How many guards were positioned outside, and where?