Episode Nine – What Fire Remembers
614 Words
Lucía didn’t sleep.
Not truly.
She drifted in and out of half-dreams, each one worse than the last—whispers in the dark, a pair of hands at her waist, heat blooming under her skin like a warning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Valentina’s face. Heard her voice.
You make me feel something real.
By morning, Lucía felt like her ribs were made of glass. Cracked, humming, fragile.
The city was quieter on Mondays. Less traffic. Less noise. But somehow, it all felt louder to her. Too loud. Every honk of a horn made her flinch. Every shadow made her tense.
She told herself it was nerves. That it was nothing.
But her instincts screamed otherwise.
At the restaurant, Elena gave her a concerned look and didn’t ask questions. That was something Lucía had always appreciated—how Elena knew when to push, and when to simply pass her a mug of cinnamon tea and a knowing nod.
Lucía was halfway through polishing glasses when her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her heart stuttered.
She let it ring.
A minute later, a text came through:
I’m sorry. Please let me see you. – V
Lucía stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the delete button.
And didn’t move.
Instead, she slipped the phone into her apron and kept working. Pretending she hadn’t seen it. Pretending her pulse wasn’t trying to break free from her neck.
The day dragged. Her hands moved automatically, but her mind was somewhere else—back on those steps, on Valentina’s face in the half-light. The way her voice had trembled just a little.
And beneath all that, something deeper. A heat that wasn’t fading. A fire that remembered touch even when the memory begged to be buried.
She made it through her shift, barely. Left just before sunset.
The wind had picked up. Cold for spring.
She tugged her jacket tighter, walking fast, eyes scanning every corner. She didn’t want to admit she was hoping to see the black Maserati again. She didn’t want to admit she was disappointed when she didn’t.
By the time she reached her building, her head was pounding.
She climbed the stairs slowly, every step heavier than the last.
When she reached her door, she stopped.
Something was on the ground.
A note. Folded.
No envelope. No name.
Lucía bent down, hands trembling as she picked it up. Opened it.
They’re watching you now. Be careful.
No signature.
Just that.
She froze.
The hallway was empty. The building silent.
Lucía backed into her apartment, locked the door behind her, and checked every room, every closet, every window latch. Nothing out of place.
But something had changed.
The air felt heavier.
And for the first time, it wasn’t just Valentina she feared.
It was everything that came with her.
Her name. Her world.
The shadow of power that stretched longer than Lucía had realized.
She sank onto her bed, heart racing, eyes on the note.
It wasn’t Valentina’s handwriting. It was rougher. Sharper. Hastily written.
Someone else had left it.
Someone who knew something.
Lucía didn’t know what scared her more—the warning itself…
Or the fact that a part of her still wanted to text Valentina back.
To ask her what the hell was going on.
To ask her if she was safe.
To ask if that feeling between them—the fire, the pull—was as dangerous as it felt.
She stared at her phone.
And then she did the one thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
She texted back.
Come to the rooftop. Midnight.
Then she turned off the phone.
And waited for the night to fall.
- Writer
