Baxter adjusted the last gear of the helmet with an almost obsessive precision. The metal responded with a clean, exact click, a brief sound lost amid the constant hum of the laboratory. The white lamps cast cold reflections over tables cluttered with tools, blueprints, and wires that still carried the heat of hours of work.
He removed his gloves calmly, let out a barely audible sigh, and wiped his hands with a cloth, staining it with dark grease. As he stepped out, the hallway greeted him with a pulsating reddish light: neon tubes beating like artificial veins, bathing the metallic walls in long, distorted shadows.
—Ishnofel —he said, practical, without raising his voice—. The helmet is ready.
The door opened with a hydraulic hiss, slow and deliberate. Ishnofel appeared silhouetted against the laboratory light. He took the helmet and evaluated it for barely a second; his fingers traced the surface as if recognizing every screw, every weld. Then he put it on with a firm, definitive gesture.
—Thanks —he replied.
There was no emotion in his voice, but there was a raw honesty, rough like steel. Baxter nodded. Between them, silence had always been enough.
Ishnofel walked toward the main entrance. His steps were steady, measured, and each footfall seemed to impose order on the building, as if the structure itself aligned around him.
---
The Husk bar buzzed with a dense, tired murmur. The air smelled of old alcohol, smoke, and damp wood. Muted laughter mixed with the irregular clink of glasses and worn-out music dragging from an old record player. Ángel Dust and Cherry Bomb drank without enthusiasm, more out of habit than pleasure.
—Hey, big guy! —Ángel shouted, raising his glass as he saw Ishnofel pass—. A drink to liven up the night?
Before Ishnofel even turned his head, Husk shook his head from the bar, drying his hands with a stained rag.
—Don't even try, Ángel. That guy doesn't drink.
Cherry Bomb raised an eyebrow, leaning against the bar, curious.
—And since when do you know suffering on legs so well?
Ángel shrugged.
—We're not friends or anything… but I like him. He said if Valentino messes with me again, he'll step in.
Husk rested his elbows on the bar, slowly polishing a glass, almost meditatively.
—Sometimes we talk at night —he added—. He's not as cold as he seems. He just… carries too much and doesn't know where to put it.
Ishnofel didn't react. He stayed by the entrance, upright and still, attentive to every sound, every breath around him. A conscious shadow, vigilant.
---
He felt the presence before he saw it. Charlie appeared beside him with soft steps and, without a word, placed a bottle of water on the floor by her boot. The gesture was simple, almost shy, but full of intention.
Ishnofel barely lowered his gaze.
—Thanks, princess —he murmured, as if the words were ripped from the air.
Vaggie watched the scene from a few steps back. Her brow was furrowed, jaw tense.
Ishnofel didn't look at her. Not out of disdain, but because he didn't need her in his field of vision. He respected her only for what she represented to Charlie.
—Are you going to stand there all day? —Vaggie asked, cuttingly.
—It's my duty —he replied, without taking his eyes off the front.
—The one protecting Charlie is me, not you.
Something closed in Ishnofel's eyes. It wasn't anger. It was a gate.
—You're not ready —he said—. You're weak.
The air grew heavy, thick. Vaggie ground her teeth and reacted before thinking, lunging with her spear.
There was no clash. Just a dry, harsh sound, like metal scraping over ancient stone.
Hellish chains sprang from Ishnofel's hands. They blazed with a dark glow and wrapped around Vaggie's neck. She struggled; her breath caught as the floor vibrated beneath her knees.
—I warned you —he said, with glacial calm—. I don't tolerate recklessness… nor rebellion.
She tried to respond. She couldn't.
—If you weren't important to Charlie —he continued—, you'd already be dead.
—Ishnofel! —Charlie's voice trembled, breaking—. Please… let her go.
The chains dissipated like hot smoke. Ishnofel pushed Vaggie away. She fell to her knees, coughing, clinging to the floor as if it were the only real thing.
—We should never have shared this place —he said. It was a mistake.
He turned and walked away. The hotel remained in awkward, heavy silence, as if even the walls were holding their breath.
Charlie knelt beside Vaggie.
—Are you okay?
—Yes… —she answered with difficulty—. Just… give me a second.
---
Ishnofel's room received him in dimness. Thick curtains filtered a pale, bluish light. He closed the door carefully, without force, as if any sound would be superfluous. He sat on the bed; the mattress creaked under his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees and placed the helmet to the side, where the metal caught a dull reflection.
Fatigue didn't hit all at once. It seeped slowly, like water through cracks. And with it, a fissure in his mind.
The smell of metal gave way, without warning, to wet grass and hot concrete.
---
San Miguel Park, Lima.
The air was warm. The distant hum of traffic mixed with birdsong and the crunch of leaves under someone's steps. Sumaq sat on a worn wooden bench, watching a young woman crying silently. She didn't sob. She made no sound. But her sadness took up too much space.
It must hurt a lot… he thought. No one breaks like that without reason.
She had just come out of a relationship that left her empty. The world kept turning, indifferent, but she did not.
Sumaq hesitated. Then he searched his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, slightly crumpled.
—Hi… sorry —he said, awkwardly approaching—. I saw you crying and… thought maybe you'd need this.
She looked up, her eyes red. She took the handkerchief carefully, as if it were fragile.
—Thanks —she replied—. I'm Eliana.
—Sumaq —he said—. Sumaq Atilano Bonilla.
She gave a small, trembling smile.
—That's a nice name. I think I've seen you before… aren't you the boy who's always rescuing cats?
Sumaq's face flushed.
—Well… yeah —he admitted—. I guess they don't know how to take care of themselves.
Eliana laughed softly. In that tiny, almost imperceptible gesture, something began.
Unknowingly, both had just crossed a point of no return.
---
Ishnofel opened his eyes.
The room was cold and silent again. The echo of the memory dissipated without violence. He let himself fall completely onto the bed. This time, the past didn't hurt as it used to.
He closed his eyes.
And allowed himself to rest.