Page 60
Story: The Sentinel
María made a small, strangled sound—half gasp, half sob—before the words even sank in.
“No,” she whispered. Then louder, desperate, her voice cracking like splintered glass. “No, Clara, no me digas eso.”
Don’t tell me that.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The grief in her voice was unbearable, a mother’s world tilting off its axis.
In the background, I heard Señor Gil’s voice—lower, steadier, but no less broken. “Qué pasó?”
What happened?
How was I supposed to answer that?
I gripped the phone tighter. “We—we don’t know everything yet,” I managed, my voice barely holding. “The police?—”
“What happened to my son?” María’s voice rose, high and trembling, each syllable edged in agony. “Dime la verdad, Clara!”
The truth.
But what was the truth? That I didn’t know how Diego had ended up face-down in a pool? That I didn’t know why someone had targeted him? That all I had were grainy security images, a feeling in my gut, and an anger so sharp it could cut through bone?
My breath hitched.
Marcus moved closer, so close his chest pressed against my back, his warmth a barrier against the ice creeping into my veins. His hand skimmed down my arm before settling over mine, steadying, grounding.
I swallowed hard. “They found him at the hotel,” I said finally, my voice hollow. “In the pool.”
A sharp inhale from María. “En la piscina?”
“I don’t believe it was an accident.” The words came out low, firm. “I think someone did this.”
Señor Gil cursed under his breath, but María made another choked sound, and the devastation in it shattered something inside me.
“Mi niño …” she sobbed, the words slipping into frantic Spanish, too fast for me to catch everything. But I didn’t need a translation.
She had just lost her son.
A son who was supposed to be safe.
A son who had promised to call.
“María,” I said, barely holding myself together. “I—I don’t have answers yet, but I swear to you, I’m going to find out who did this.”
Silence.
Then a broken, fragile whisper. “Dónde está?”
Where is he?
My throat burned.
“The police have him now,” I forced out. “They’ll—” My voice faltered. “They’ll be calling you soon.”
Marcus’s grip on my hand tightened.
María made a sound that wasn’t quite human—something ripped straight from a mother’s soul—and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from breaking.
I should have been stronger.
“No,” she whispered. Then louder, desperate, her voice cracking like splintered glass. “No, Clara, no me digas eso.”
Don’t tell me that.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The grief in her voice was unbearable, a mother’s world tilting off its axis.
In the background, I heard Señor Gil’s voice—lower, steadier, but no less broken. “Qué pasó?”
What happened?
How was I supposed to answer that?
I gripped the phone tighter. “We—we don’t know everything yet,” I managed, my voice barely holding. “The police?—”
“What happened to my son?” María’s voice rose, high and trembling, each syllable edged in agony. “Dime la verdad, Clara!”
The truth.
But what was the truth? That I didn’t know how Diego had ended up face-down in a pool? That I didn’t know why someone had targeted him? That all I had were grainy security images, a feeling in my gut, and an anger so sharp it could cut through bone?
My breath hitched.
Marcus moved closer, so close his chest pressed against my back, his warmth a barrier against the ice creeping into my veins. His hand skimmed down my arm before settling over mine, steadying, grounding.
I swallowed hard. “They found him at the hotel,” I said finally, my voice hollow. “In the pool.”
A sharp inhale from María. “En la piscina?”
“I don’t believe it was an accident.” The words came out low, firm. “I think someone did this.”
Señor Gil cursed under his breath, but María made another choked sound, and the devastation in it shattered something inside me.
“Mi niño …” she sobbed, the words slipping into frantic Spanish, too fast for me to catch everything. But I didn’t need a translation.
She had just lost her son.
A son who was supposed to be safe.
A son who had promised to call.
“María,” I said, barely holding myself together. “I—I don’t have answers yet, but I swear to you, I’m going to find out who did this.”
Silence.
Then a broken, fragile whisper. “Dónde está?”
Where is he?
My throat burned.
“The police have him now,” I forced out. “They’ll—” My voice faltered. “They’ll be calling you soon.”
Marcus’s grip on my hand tightened.
María made a sound that wasn’t quite human—something ripped straight from a mother’s soul—and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from breaking.
I should have been stronger.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100