The Accusation
Darkness swallowed the room. Not the soft kind that comes when a light goes out. The thick kind. The alive kind. The watcher’s kind. Marisol’s breath hitched. She couldn’t see Ana. Couldn’t see Sofía. Couldn’t see her father. Only the faint glow of the pendant—pale, trembling—like a candle fighting a storm. Ana’s voice cut through the dark. “Ignacio, what did you just say?” Sofía whispered, “He said Tomás is the traitor.” Tomás’s voice came from somewhere to Marisol’s left—steady, but tight. “Ignacio is confused. He’s been manipulated for decades.” Ignacio’s voice trembled. “I know what I saw.” Marisol’s pulse pounded in her ears. “What did you see?” Ignacio stepped closer—she could hear the soft scrape of his shoes on the floorboards. “I saw your father,” he said, “in the orc
- Writer
