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I stop as my entire body freezes. Even though I have been away for years, I still remember the security details that have been drilled into me.
“I don’t know you,” I say carefully.
His smile doesn’t waver. “Your mother sent me. Let me help with your bags.”
“No.” My voice sharpens. “My mother would never send someone I’ve never seen before.”
Maksim presses into my side, and the man’s eyes flick down to him. I take a small step back.
“Stay away from my son,” I say, my voice colder now.
He raises his hands. “Ma’am, this is your ride—”
Just then, a second man steps from behind the vehicle. I don’t even see his face before he grabs Maksim.
“Hey!” I scream at him, twisting violently, my grip tightening on Maksim. He cries out—terrified.
“Mamá!”
“Don’t touch him!” I hiss.
But another hand yanks Maksim from my grip.
“Maksim! No—don’t you touch him—!”
One of the guys lifts his jacket and shows me his gun. If you do anything stupid, that will be the end of your son.
I take one look at my sobbing son, who has already been placed in the vehicle, and decide to cooperate.
As I enter the vehicle, something cracks against the side of my skull. My vision fractures, and just before everything goes dark, I see Maksim scurry beside me.
35
The first thing I register as I try to open my eyes is pain.
A slow, throbbing pulse behind my eyes. Then the ache in my wrists. My spine. My throat.
I gradually open my eyes, and the first thing I notice is that the ceiling above me is gray and cracked. The room is dim—there's no natural light. A single bulb hums overhead, flickering slightly. The walls are blank, bare, and silent.
I lie on a stiff cot, the kind used in military camps or prison cells. My body is heavy and stiff like I’ve been lying in the same position for too long.
Then it hits me—Maksim is not here.
I bolt upright too quickly. The motion sends stars bursting behind my eyes, but I push through it, swinging my legs over the side of the cot.
“Maksim?”
Nothing. No answer.
I stumble to my feet, nearly collapsing as dizziness crashes over me. The room is small. Sparse. Just a chair in the corner. A metal basin on a counter. No windows, and no sign of him.
My hands fly to my stomach as panic starts to rise. My mouth feels too dry to scream. But I try anyway.
“Maksim!” I scream, banging on the door, but it doesn’t budge.
Just as I raise my hand to bang on it again, I hear a click, and a shadow enters the room. I blink hard, unsure if I’m hallucinating.
“Cristóbal?”