Chapter five
1030 Words
Some Doors Should Stay Closed**
### **Laluna**
Sleep refused to come.
I lay on my back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling while rain tapped softly against my bedroom window.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same thing.
Thiago.
Standing beneath the streetlamp.
His hand pressed against the iron gate.
The metal folding beneath his fingers as if it were made of paper.
That wasn't possible.
It couldn't have been.
And yet...
I had seen it.
"Laluna."
The whisper floated through the darkness.
I sat upright.
"...Abuela?"
No answer.
The apartment was silent.
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table.
**2:17 a.m.**
Too late for visitors.
Too early for morning.
A floorboard creaked somewhere beyond my bedroom door.
I frowned.
"Abuela?"
Still nothing.
Throwing on a cardigan, I stepped into the hallway.
The apartment felt different.
Not dangerous.
Empty.
A warm glow spilled from beneath the kitchen door.
She was awake.
Again.
I pushed the door open.
My grandmother sat at the table, surrounded by old books and loose sheets of yellowed paper.
The leather journal lay open before her.
She looked up when she heard me.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't."
I walked over and poured myself a glass of water.
"You've been crying."
She smiled sadly.
"I've been remembering."
I leaned against the counter.
"You've done a lot of that lately."
"I know."
For a few moments, neither of us spoke.
The kettle whistled softly.
She poured chamomile tea into two cups.
The familiar scent filled the room.
When she slid one toward me, I noticed the journal had been turned to a page covered in symbols I didn't recognize.
I reached for it.
She closed the book before my fingers touched the paper.
"You really don't trust me, do you?"
"It isn't about trust."
"Then what is it about?"
She looked into her cup.
"Timing."
I sighed.
"Everything is always about timing."
"Because some truths become heavier the earlier you carry them."
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug.
"What happened between the Navarros and the Serranos?"
Her eyes lifted to mine.
"Why do you ask?"
"You told me a witch fell in love with a Serrano."
"I did."
"And it started a war."
She nodded.
"So... what happened?"
The room fell quiet.
"I was young," she said at last. "Younger than you are now."
That surprised me.
"You knew them?"
"I knew everyone."
A faint smile crossed her lips.
"It was a very different Madrid back then."
"What was she like?"
"The witch?"
"Yes."
Her smile lingered.
"Brilliant."
"Beautiful?"
"Very…."
"Stubborn?"
"The most stubborn person I've ever met."
I smirked.
"Sounds familiar."
Her eyes softened.
"It should."
I frowned.
Before I could ask what she meant, the apartment lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
The refrigerator hummed to a stop.
The rain outside seemed suddenly louder.
I hated power cuts.
Always had.
My grandmother stood so quickly her chair scraped across the floor.
"Stay here."
"It's just the electricity."
"No."
Her voice was sharp.
"Something's wrong."
A chill swept through the apartment.
Not cold air.
Something else.
The candles on the shelf lit themselves.
One after another.
Without a match.
Without a lighter.
My stomach tightened.
My grandmother hadn't cast a spell in years.
At least... not in front of me.
She whispered words too old for me to understand.
The air shimmered.
A faint silver circle appeared beneath our feet before fading again.
"What was that?"
"A ward."
"Against what?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked to the living room window and pulled the curtain aside just enough to look outside.
Her shoulders stiffened.
"No..."
I set my tea down.
"What?"
"Don't come here."
Of course I walked over anyway.
She sighed but didn't stop me.
I looked through the gap in the curtain.
Across the street...
Parked beneath a broken streetlamp...
Was a black car.
Its engine was off.
Its headlights were dark.
Yet someone sat inside.
Watching our building.
I couldn't make out the driver's face.
Only the outline of a man.
"Do you know him?"
"No."
"Then why are you worried?"
"I'm worried because he's been there since sunset."
A knot formed in my stomach.
"Maybe he's waiting for someone."
"Maybe."
She didn't sound convinced.
Just then...
The driver's door opened.
The man stepped out.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark coat.
He looked up.
Straight at our window.
Even from this distance, I felt it.
Like he knew I was watching him.
He smiled.
Not warmly.
Knowingly.
Then he reached into his pocket and placed something on the hood of the car before walking away into the rain.
"He's leaving," I whispered.
My grandmother wasn't watching him anymore.
She was staring at whatever he'd left behind.
Five minutes later, curiosity got the better of me.
"I'm going downstairs."
"No."
"I'm just looking."
"Laluna."
"I'll be back in two minutes."
Before she could stop me, I grabbed my keys and hurried out of the apartment.
The stairwell echoed beneath my footsteps.
By the time I reached the street, the rain had eased into a light drizzle.
The black car was gone.
Only one thing remained.
A small wooden box.
About the size of my hand.
No name.
No ribbon.
No note.
I looked up and saw my grandmother at the third-floor window.
She was shaking her head.
I knew what she was saying.
**Leave it.**
I should have listened.
Instead...
I picked it up.
It was surprisingly warm.
Almost...
Alive.
A tiny click echoed inside.
My heart stopped.
"...Was that a lock?"
The lid slowly opened on its own.
Inside rested a single silver key.
Nothing else.
I frowned.
"A key?"
Tucked beneath it was a folded piece of paper.
My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.
Only one sentence had been written in neat black ink.
> **The basement remembers what your grandmother forgot.**
A gust of wind slammed the apartment building's front door behind me.
I jumped.
When I looked up again...
The man who had left the box...
Was standing at the end of the street.
Watching me.
And this time...
He wasn't smiling.
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