A few hours later
SAMUEL RUIZ’S HQ
11:45 a.m.
I knock on the door of the old warehouse, silently praying he’s there. I don’t have the strength to turn back.
After a few minutes, he finally opens the door. He stares at me, stunned by my condition.
"What the hell are you doing here, beautiful? Who did this to you?"
I don’t answer his questions. I just collapse into his arms.
When I was little, his arms—along with Maria’s—were the only places I felt safe.
It’s been at least ten years since I last initiated any sort of affectionate gesture toward anyone. Normally, it’s always him who offers his arms for me to fall into.
"You’re scaring me. Are you sure you’re okay? What happened, kid? You’re burning up like you just came out of an oven!"
I look up to hold back the tears that threaten
