Chapter 82: A House Divided

The streets of Jaén feel different at night. Not quiet. Not peaceful. But watchful ... like the city itself is holding its breath.

Isabel moves through the narrow alleys with her shawl pulled tight, her steps soft, her eyes lowered. She keeps one hand near her sleeve, feeling the bracelet’s warmth against her wrist. She is afraid, but she doesn’t turn back.

I whisper to her. ‘Slow your breathing. Stay in the shadows.’

She obeys.

The message Adella gave her is tucked inside her apron, folded so small it feels like nothing at all. But it is everything. It is danger. It is hope. It is the beginning of something she cannot yet imagine.

She reaches the corner of Calle del Pozo and pauses. A French patrol marches past ... four soldiers, muskets slung over their shoulders, boots striking the cobblestones with harsh rhythm. Their voices echo down the street, sharp and careless. Isabel presses herself against the wall, heart pounding.

I whisper sharply. ‘Not yet. Wait.’

She holds her breath. Two more soldiers pass without noticing her. Only when their voices fade does she move again.

The meeting place is a small courtyard behind a shuttered bakery. The air smells faintly of flour and smoke. A single lantern glows in an upper window, casting a thin line of light across the stones.

As soon as Isabel steps into the courtyard a figure emerges from the shadows.

He’s still relatively young ... perhaps in his late twenties ... with dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes that catch the lantern light. His clothes are simple, worn from travel. A satchel hangs across his chest.

He looks at Isabel with surprise, then recognition.

“Isabel,” he says softly.

Her breath catches.

Tomás Rivera.

She met him once before, months ago, when he delivered a letter to Adella. He had smiled at Isabel then ... gentle, curious, and kind. Isabel remembers that smile now, and it steadies her. She holds out the folded message.

“This is for you.”

Tomás takes it carefully, his fingers brushing hers. His touch is warm. His eyes soften.

“You’re helping Adella?” he asks quietly.

Isabel nods, though her voice trembles. “Yes. I’m trying to play my part.”

Tomás studies her face ... her fear, her resolve, her trembling hands.