I force myself to move, lowering my head as I pass those watching me with suspicion. In the kitchen, I stop beside José and meet Michael Cárdenas’s gaze from behind the counter. He’s sipping his coffee nonchalantly, a newspaper in his hand.
What am I supposed to do? His presence chokes me, especially when he raises his eyes to me. Why is he staring like that?
“Don’t just stand there,.”
José pushes me onto a stool, seating me by force. While he fills a plate with chilaquiles and scrambled eggs, Moreno walks into the kitchen. I’ve only seen him a few times, but I haven’t forgotten his hostility toward me. With his long dark hair and that big bandage on his neck, I’m surprised he’s even up, remembering the wound he got in the quarry.
He leans too close to Michael, whispering something I c
