The air inside the room turned heavy the moment she stepped closer. The scent of rain and gunpowder clung to her—something sharp, metallic, almost familiar. She moved like someone trained to kill, deliberate and slow, the way Rafael used to when danger was near.
But there was something else in her eyes. Not cruelty. Not pity. Something colder. Calculation.
"I asked who you are," I said again, forcing my voice not to shake.
She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek. "Names won't help you, Aurora."
My chest tightened. The way she said my name made it sound like a secret I shouldn't still have. "You know who I am."
"I know everything about you." Her gaze flicked over me—my torn clothes, the bruises, the blood still crusted near my hairline. "He kept you hidden for too long. You were his blind spot."
My pulse jumped. "Rafael?"
Her eyes softened for just a second. "He's alive."
The words hit me like a fist to the gut.
Alive.
