We stepped out of the restaurant into the icy Toronto air, and for a moment none of us spoke. The weight of what Ximena had revealed pressed down on us like a storm cloud.
One day.
Alma had one day to deliver.
And so did we.
Somewhere down the street, a couple walked past holding hands, bundled in matching red scarves, laughing as they hurried toward a Valentine’s lunch reservation. The contrast was almost comical. While the rest of the city floated through a weekend of roses and romance, we were preparing to dismantle a criminal conspiracy.
Paloma wrapped her arms around herself, jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle twitch. She wasn’t crying — she was too angry for that. Her grief had hardened into something sharp and focused.
Elias hovered near her, not touching her, but
