Chapter 5

The air was just starting to cool, and for once, the mood in the common room wasn’t heavy. The four of us were talking about nonsense—old TV shows, favorite fast food chains, weird things we’d seen on the internet. Something light, something that let us pretend, just for a little while, that we weren’t trapped here like animals.

From somewhere outside, music drifted in—upbeat, rhythmic, the kind of tune that belonged to a street festival or a loud backyard party. Perhaps it was coming from the guard’s phone, or else a radio. Isa’s face lit up the second she caught the beat. “Okay, no one stop me,” she said, laughing as she jumped to her feet and started dancing.

Her hair bounced around her shoulders as she moved, hips swaying in time with the music. It was pure Isa—joyous, wild, carefree for the briefest of moments. Luz laughed and clapped along, Marisol rolled her eyes in mock disdain, and I just watched, smiling. Then I noticed Alejandro, posted in the background like a shadow, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on Isa. His expression was wrong. Flat. Hungry.

I felt a twist of unease in my stomach, but I said nothing.

Later, I was in my room writing to Luz, my pen halfway through a line, when a scream shattered the stillness.

I bolted upright, paper and pen forgotten, heart jackhammering. By the time I threw open the door, Luz and Marisol were already racing out of the girls’ room, panic on their faces.

“Isa,” Luz gasped. “She went to grab something—she didn’t come back—”

We didn’t speak. We didn’t plan. We just ran.

The three of us tore through the common room and out the side door, adrenaline surging like fire in my veins. We followed the sound—another scream, desperate and broken—and came upon them just beyond the porch. Alejandro had her pinned in the dirt, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her arm.

I didn’t think. I just charged.

We hit him together—Marisol shouting in Spanish, Luz grabbing Isa’s arm to pull her free, and me slamming my shoulder into Alejandro with everything I had. He stumbled back, snarling, hands raised like he was about to fight—but then he saw something over our shoulders.

Two more guards had emerged from the gate. They saw what was happening. One of them yelled.

Alejandro turned to run, but he didn’t get far. The gate guards grabbed him hard, dragging him back toward the building. We didn’t stay to watch what happened next.

We were on the ground with Isa. Luz cradled her gently, brushing her hair away from her face, murmuring something soft and soothing. Marisol knelt at her side, inspecting a bruise already darkening on Isa’s cheekbone.

“She’s okay,” Luz said, voice shaking. “He didn’t—he didn’t get to—”

“She twisted her ankle,” Marisol added grimly. “He threw her down hard.”

I sank to my knees beside them, trembling with rage mixed with relief. Isa’s face was streaked with dirt and tears, her breaths shallow, but her eyes were open. She reached out blindly and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, like she was trying to convince herself.

But none of us were okay. Not really.

Isa was asleep, thank God. The doctor—they sent one again, which only reinforced what I’d told Marisol a while back—had said her injuries were minor. The bruise on her cheekbone would fade, and the ankle wasn’t broken, just twisted. She needed rest. So did we all. But for some of us, it wasn’t coming easily.

Luz had fallen asleep next to her cousin, curled up protectively on the narrow bed, one hand still resting lightly on Isa’s blanket. I’d never seen her that shaken before. It had rattled me more than I wanted to admit.

Now I was on the sofa in the common room, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, staring at nothing. My heart was still racing. Not with panic anymore—just with the bitter, helpless churn of anger. I kept seeing Isa’s face, contorted in terror. And Luz’s when we reached her. And Marisol’s grim, furious focus. I kept replaying it, the way some part of me had known the moment I saw Alejandro watching Isa dance.

I heard footsteps and looked up. Marisol stepped out of the bedroom, her arms folded across her chest. She didn’t say anything at first, just dropped onto the sofa beside me with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the whole day.

“You good?” she asked quietly.

“Not even close,” I said. “But ... yeah. I guess.”

She nodded at the contradiction, eyes fixed on some invisible point across the room. “I keep going over it in my head. What could’ve happened. What didn’t. How close we were to...” She trailed off and exhaled hard. “We stopped him.”

“Barely.”

“But we did.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and then she said, “I get it now. What you did. That night we were taken. You fought them. I couldn’t understand it then—I thought you were being reckless, stupid. But tonight I didn’t even think. I just ran after her.”

I looked over at her. “Yeah,” I said. “You get it.”

“I do.” She was quiet for another few seconds. “You would’ve done it again, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Her lips pressed together. She gave a little nod. Then her gaze shifted to the darkened doorway of the girls’ room. “Luz was a wreck tonight.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“I’ve never seen her like that. Not even close.” She looked at me then, studied me.

“Tell me something,” she said vaguely.

“Anything.”

“You’re in love with her.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.”

Marisol gave a short, almost amused exhale. “I sort of saw it happening. All those little letters— and don’t think Isa and I didn’t see them—plus the way you two kept sneaking glances at each other like you thought no one noticed. I figured it was heading there.”

“I didn’t expect it,” I admitted. “But it’s real.”

She turned her eyes to me again. Something thoughtful, protective. The big sister kicking in. I braced myself for the lecture.

But then she smirked and shook her head. “I don’t really have to say these things to you, do I?”

“No,” I said. “You don’t. But it’s fine if you want to talk about any concerns you might have. Doesn’t have to be tonight—can be anytime. Hell, I’d have a few if I were in your shoes.”

We lapsed into silence again. Not heavy this time. Just tired. The kind of stillness that comes after too many emotions in too short a time.

Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say. Just the low hum of the night, the creaks of an old building, and the distant thrum of our frayed nerves. It was halfway to morning before we finally stood.

Marisol looked at me and, once again, said, “Hug?” I was happy to oblige.

“You’re all right, Marisol,” I told her. “I never would have figured you for a hugger. But here we are.”

I woke up to silence. Late morning, judging by the light coming through the slats of the blinds. The others must’ve let me sleep in—probably heard me come back to bed long past the time any of us should’ve been awake. It was a small kindness, and I was grateful for it.

I pulled on a shirt and stepped out into the common room, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. All three women were there—Marisol sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs, Luz perched on the sofa with her notebook in her lap, and Isa on the edge of the table, her wrapped ankle elevated on a pillow.