The irony was delicious. Sarah stood there in her uniform, the very symbol of justice and protection, while Diaz lay broken in the bed behind us, unable to speak, unable to do anything.
And Gabriela? She had no idea that the two people she was trusting—the ones she thought were her allies—were the very ones who had orchestrated her son's downfall.
Gabriela's face fell slightly, but she nodded, her fingers tightening around Sarah's arm. "Of course," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Of course, whatever it takes. Please, Sarah… please find who did this to my boy."
Sarah's expression softened just enough to look sympathetic, her hand covering Gabriela's in a gesture that seemed comforting. "We will, Auntie," she promised, her voice warm. "We won't stop until we do."
I watched the exchange, my lips curling into a private smirk. The lies rolled off Sarah's tongue so easily, her performance flawless. She was good at this. Almost as good as I was.
