The morning carried a strange kind of silence. Light filtered through the blinds of the gallery, drawing thin golden lines across the floor, like cuts of glass.
Naiara slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open, hoping to be the first to arrive.
She wasn't.
From the hallway leading to the storage room came muffled voices. A man's voice, deep, confident. Another answered, lower, rougher, and far too familiar.
She froze just before the corner, her breath caught in her throat.
"I know perfectly well they're on to us. They almost found the shipment yesterday. We need to distract them."
Her father's voice.
There was a heavy sound, maybe a crate being moved. Then the other man spoke, a tone she didn't recognize: "Remember, Miguel, I'm not a patient man. But I trust you.
Yesterday went well in the end… and the goods were in good health.
Always a pleasure doing business with you, my friend."
A short pause. Then a handshake.
The word "in good health" echoed in Naiara's mind, off-key and wrong.
She leaned slightly, just enough to see them.
Her father, immaculate as always, and a tall man dressed in dark clothes.
Not one of his usual associates.
Sharp features, light eyes, an expression that didn't quite match his words.
Something tightened inside her. Fear, instinct, curiosity, all at once. And before she could stop herself, she spoke.
"Papi! You're here!"
Miguel turned. No surprise. No hesitation.
Only that precise smile he wore like armor.
"Sweetheart, you're early."
The other man looked at her briefly, then held out his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreno. I'm a partner of your father's. An investor."
His tone was calm, polite… too polite.
Naiara shook his hand automatically.
"Nice to meet you."
The contact lasted a second, but it left a faint sense of unease behind. Her father watched them both, then placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
"We're done here. Let's go."
They left together. The door closed behind them with a metallic click that sounded louder than it should have.
"Good mooorning!"
Clara's voice made her jump. She turned around quickly, trying to hide her tension.
Clara came in holding two coffee cups and wearing her usual radiant smile.
But she noticed it instantly. "Hey… you okay?"
Naiara took the cup but didn't drink.
"Clara… can I ask you something?"
"Of course. What happened?"
Naiara hesitated.
"If you thought your father was lying to you… what would you do?"
Clara frowned. "Uh… I guess I'd ask him. Why? What's going on, Nay?"
Naiara shook her head, as if to reset her thoughts.
"I don't know. But something happened."
And then the words came, all of them.
The missing bag, the note, the voices from the storage room. When she repeated "the goods were in good health," Clara went pale.
"What does that even mean? Like they were talking about people."
Silence.
They exchanged a look… confusion, fear, and something else: a silent promise to stick together.
"Nay," Clara finally said, "you need to stay out of this. At least until you know more."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," Naiara whispered. "Find out more."
The rest of the day passed as if nothing had happened. They worked in the gallery, hung the first frames, adjusted the lights.
Clara's photos seemed to breathe on their own: faces, shadows, the heartbeat of moments.
When they switched on the main lights, the room came alive.
"It's perfect," Naiara said softly.
Clara grinned. "Then to celebrate… party tonight. Beach. You in?"
Naiara raised an eyebrow. "A party? I don't know…"
"Oh come on! It'll do you good. It's chill, I promise. And if any guy tries something stupid, I'll kick him, deal?"
Naiara laughed.
"Okay. But not for long."
"Deal. I'll pick you up at nine."
At nine sharp, Clara's car was waiting by the gate. She leaned out of the window and whistled.
"Damn, Nay! Your house is insane and you look incredible!"
Naiara wore a coral dress, thin straps brushing her shoulders, hair loose, barely any makeup.
The moonlight made her skin glow like bronze.
"Do I look comfortable?" she asked, climbing in.
"You look alive. That's better."
They laughed.
The road to the beach was quiet, headlights slicing through the darkness, the sea reflecting silver on the horizon.
Music hummed low from the radio, the salty wind rushing in through the open windows.
The beach was already alive when they arrived, bonfires, laughter, music carried by the waves. Bottles clinked, someone played guitar. For the first time in a while, Naiara felt something close to peace.
They danced barefoot for a while, laughing between songs, sand sticking to their ankles.
It felt like the world had softened, just a little.
Later, Naiara excused herself to go to the bathroom. Inside, it was cooler and quieter, the music distant.
She stared at her reflection, flushed cheeks, bright eyes.
"You can do this," she whispered. "You can live again."
She opened the door to leave and froze.
A man was leaning against the wall outside, drink in hand.
"Hey," he said, slurring slightly. "I've been watching you. You're gorgeous."
He took a step forward. Naiara stiffened.
"Don't be shy, come on…"
The smell of alcohol hit her. Her pulse spiked. For a flash she wasn't on the beach anymore, she was somewhere else, trapped, someone's voice shouting, a hand gripping too tightly. "Leave me alone," she managed, her voice shaking.
He laughed. "Just a compliment, baby…"
Then, suddenly, another figure appeared between them.
Tall. Solid.
His back blocked the light from the bonfire.
"She said no."
The words were quiet but sharp.
The drunk guy blinked, his smirk fading.
"Chill, man…" he muttered, backing away.
The newcomer didn't move until he was gone. Then he turned, not fully, just enough for her to see the outline of his jaw, the dark fabric of his shirt.
His hand found her wrist.
Before she could react, he pulled her aside, into the shadow of a stone wall, away from the noise and light.
The music faded to a distant thrum.
His voice brushed her ear.
"Don't let anyone touch you, Tigna."
The sound of that word, that name, sent a shiver through her. She froze, unable to tell if it was fear or something deeper, more dangerous.
He seemed to sense it. He took a small step back, but his hand didn't leave her wrist.
The warmth of his skin burned against hers.
Their gazes merged into each other and for a moment, only one, Naiara's resistance lowered.
She looked at her wrist tight between his hand, then she returned with her eyes on him making a small nod with her head. He, with his free hand, brushed her collarbone and then her shoulder going down her arm. A light, delicate touch, accompanied by a sound, that sound... "hum", as if he was an animal studying his prey but inexplicably Naiara was not afraid... only a sensation, a shiver that ran through her body.
Her breathing quickened, uneven.
He let her go, slowly, like someone releasing a thought too heavy to keep.
Then he stepped back, the shadows swallowing his face.
"Who… who are you?" she whispered.
No answer. He turned and vanished into the crowd, disappearing between the lights and the waves.
Naiara stood there, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music.
Her wrist still tingled where his fingers had been.
In the distance, Clara's laughter drifted through the air, bright and carefree.
Naiara looked toward the sea, then back to the crowd.
He was gone. But she knew that voice.
That voice had already saved her once.