THE REASON

Uneasy Welcome

The world outside the ruined house was a suffocating blanket of night, but the image of the explosion, the raw sound of it, still echoed in my skull. A desperate urge to know if Lucia had somehow survived the inferno propelled me forward, but Maya's hand clamped around my wrist with surprising strength, halting me mid-step.

"Where are you going?" she hissed, her voice a low, urgent rasp.

"Lucia…" I stammered, trying to articulate the desperate hope that clung to me, the refusal to believe she was gone.

Maya's grip tightened. "If that explosion did enough damage to Leon to even slow him down, we have maybe an hour, maybe, before he's fully recovered. We need to put as much distance between us and him as humanly possible. Now." Her words were a cold dose of reality, confirming my deepest fear – Leon likely wasn't dead. And what about Lucia? The unanswered question was a lead weight in my chest.

"Emma, let's go." Veronica's voice, though laced with fear, echoed Maya's urgency, pulling me back from the edge of despair. Driven by a primal need to survive, fueled by Maya's stark assessment, we scrambled out of the shattered remains of the house.

The front porch, once a welcoming threshold, now felt exposed and vulnerable. Lucia's sedan, our supposed escape route, sat with its tires slashed and windows smashed – a deliberate act of sabotage. "s**t!" Maya's sharp cry ripped through the quiet night. "We'll have to take one of theirs. Don't worry, we'll ditch it on the way, swap it for something less conspicuous. You both wait here. I need to get the keys."

The wait felt like an eternity, each silent second amplifying the fear and uncertainty. Finally, Maya reappeared, a set of keys glinting in the dim light. They were for a sleek, black American muscle car, the kind that screamed power and aggression – undoubtedly belonging to Leon or his masked enforcers. With a shared look of grim determination, we piled into the stolen vehicle and roared away from the ravaged house, leaving behind the ghost of Lucia and the lingering scent of smoke and destruction.

Here we were again, swallowed by the inky blackness of the night, the roar of the stolen muscle car a stark echo of our desperate flight from the ruined house. It felt like a cruel, repetitive nightmare, the faces of masked men and the chilling image of Leon seared into my mind. Had we truly escaped anything, or were we just running in circles?

A few tense moments into the drive, the silence shattered by Maya's sharp voice. "What in God's name were either of you thinking, going up against a Supreme Being?" Her gaze, fixed on the road ahead, radiated a fierce blend of anger and fear. "The moment you both blinked back into consciousness, the only instinct that should have taken over was run. Run without looking back." Her words were a harsh indictment of our perceived recklessness.

Veronica, ever fiercely loyal, bristled at the accusation. "Lucia was no match for him alone. We had to try and even the odds, give her some kind of chance." A stubborn frown creased her brow, a testament to her bravery, however ill-advised.

"Even the odds?" Maya scoffed, her voice laced with disbelief. "Ten Lucias wouldn't have matched his strength! What delusion made you think the two of you could?" Her tone softened slightly, replaced by a grim weariness. "The only reason we're still breathing this tainted air is because that sick monster was toying with us, underestimating us, seeing us as nothing more than gnats. Trust me on this," her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, her gaze unwavering, "I have witnessed a Supreme Being's rampage firsthand. They are ruthless, dangerous beyond your comprehension, and seemingly impossible to stop." The stark truth in her words hung heavy in the confined space of the car, a chilling reminder of the power we were fleeing.

"The silence in the stolen Volkswagen Golf was thick with the unspoken weight of Lucia's sacrifice. "What about Lucia? Do you think she's okay?" Veronica's voice, barely a whisper, echoed the desperate question clawing at my own throat. It was as if a single, fragile thread connected our thoughts, binding our fear and grief.

Maya's reply was a cold, brutal severing of that thread. "I... I don't know, honestly. Surviving that kind of explosion… it's hardly possible." The words landed like a physical blow, sending a glacial chill down my spine. The carefully constructed dam of my composure finally broke, and I dissolved into tears, the sobs wracking my body. Veronica pulled me into a tight embrace, her own emotions a stark contrast to my raw grief. Instead of sadness, a fierce, white-hot rage radiated from her, a burning need for vengeance that I didn't yet understand. "Don't worry, Emma," she murmured fiercely against my hair, her voice trembling with a possessive protectiveness. "I'll face a thousand of them before I let anyone harm you. That's a promise."

Maya remained silent, her gaze fixed on the rain-slicked streets of Mexico City blurring past the windshield. We had abandoned the conspicuous American muscle car in the chaotic anonymity of a supermarket parking lot on the city's outskirts, a silent acknowledgment of the need to blend, to become ghosts in the urban sprawl. The brazen act of hot-wiring the Golf had been a stark reminder of the desperate measures we were now forced to take.

Hours bled into the relentless hum of the engine as we navigated the labyrinthine streets, the glittering cityscape a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to our hearts. Finally, Maya broke the silence, her voice heavy with a regret that mirrored my own. "You know, the day in the kitchen… Lucia made me promise. If anything like this was to happen… I was to take both of you and run. Leave her behind, without looking back." Her words painted a heartbreaking picture of Lucia's foresight, her grim acceptance of the potential cost of our survival.

A long pause hung in the air, thick with unspoken grief. Then, Maya added, her voice tinged with a bewildered sorrow, "For some reason… the two of you were Lucia's absolute priority. Nothing else mattered. It was as if your very existence was her sole purpose. I've never fully understood why. I just… I desperately hope her sacrifice wasn't in vain."

Veronica, her earlier rage now tempered with a fierce determination, finally voiced the question that had been nagging at me. "Leon mentioned something about blood… what was all that about? What did he mean?"

Maya's brow furrowed in thought, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror. "I don't know for certain… but I believe it has something to do with you both. He mentioned the 'first generation'… which is what you are. But what that truly entails… I can only guess it's the reason they hunt you so relentlessly." The neon lights of a bustling mercado flashed across her face, illuminating the uncertainty and fear that still clung to our escape, even amidst the vibrant pulse of Mexico City.

The relentless hum of the Volkswagen's engine had become the soundtrack to our fear, each mile pulling us further into the unknown. Hours bled into the pre-dawn darkness, the silence in the cramped car growing thick and suffocating, a tangible weight of grief and uncertainty. Finally, the question I could no longer suppress escaped my lips, a hesitant whisper into the oppressive quiet. "Maya," I asked, my gaze fixed on the back of her head, "where are you taking us?"

Her response, when it came, was flat, devoid of any comforting inflection. "Somewhere you should blend in just fine. Just one rule, girls, and it's a matter of life and death: don't breathe a word to anyone about who you truly are." The vast, empty landscape outside the window offered little reassurance.

Veronica snorted, the sound sharp and laced with a bitter sarcasm that mirrored my own unease. "Oh, goody. More hiding. That's just what I always dreamed of."

Maya's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, her spine stiffening. A low growl rumbled in her chest. "Look, you two listen to me, and you listen good. I know how this damn world works. We play by my rules now if we want to see another sunrise."

Veronica's frustration finally boiled over. "And what then? We just keep running? Keep looking over our shoulders for the rest of our miserable, short lives?" Her voice cracked with a raw blend of anger and despair.

A muscle twitched violently in Maya's jaw. "Short lives?" she repeated, her voice rising, the weariness momentarily eclipsed by a flash of something akin to fury. "Girl, I've been a ghost in the shadows for over fifty years. Fifty years! It became my normal, a twisted kind of peace, until your Lucia dragged her brand of chaos into my quiet existence. Wherever that woman went, trouble wasn't far behind. So don't you dare lecture me about hiding." The sharpness in her tone effectively silenced Veronica.

As the first hesitant tendrils of dawn painted the eastern sky in hues of bruised purple and soft gold, the monotonous hum of the engine finally softened. The car slowed, veering off the smooth asphalt onto a rutted dirt track that snaked through a landscape dotted with cacti and scrub brush. We had arrived at the entrance of a small community, a cluster of low-slung buildings huddled together against the vast, unforgiving terrain, a place that felt both anonymous and utterly exposed. Our new sanctuary, or perhaps just another cage.

As we finally rumbled into the dusty outskirts of the small community, a prickle of unease crawled up my spine. This wasn't the quiet refuge I'd envisioned. The air itself felt thick with a silent tension, a palpable residue of something recent and terrible the residents avoiding eye contacts to the smell of fresh blood lingering in the air. Instead of the peaceful hum of a close-knit town, a heavy stillness hung in the air, punctuated by hushed whispers and furtive glances. Patches of dark, viscous stains marred the dusty ground – fresh blood. The faces of the few inhabitants we saw were drawn and tight, their eyes holding a haunted quality, as if they were still reeling from a recent tragedy. This felt less like a community and more like a place clinging to the raw edges of survival.

"Maya," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, a knot of fear tightening in my stomach, "I... I think we should turn back. Something isn't right here." The scene unfolding before us screamed of recent violence, of lives abruptly extinguished. But Maya, her jaw set with a stubborn resolve I was beginning to recognize, didn't even acknowledge my plea. She simply pulled the Volkswagen over to the side of the dusty road, the engine sputtering into silence.

"Come on out," she said, her voice surprisingly calm despite the palpable tension in the air. "Let's see how we can help."

"Maya..." The name caught in my throat, a desperate warning. But before I could elaborate on my growing dread, a figure emerged from one of the dilapidated buildings, his face etched with a weary familiarity. He walked straight towards our car, his gaze locking onto Maya's.

"Rafe..." Maya breathed, a flicker of something akin to relief crossing her features. Then, with a brief, almost hesitant movement, they embraced, a silent acknowledgment of a shared history in this troubled place. My unease only deepened. Who was Rafe? And what exactly had Maya brought us into?