Page 35

Carmen bristles, almost shaking, “Hey, chica , I fought against the cartels!” She reminds me, not for the first time.

I couldn’t care less who fought who and why. Only the future matters—my future.

“Didn’t they leave you any clothes?” I ask, suddenly curious, wondering if she was given the same ridiculous gnomish outfit, or is what I’m wearing another practical joke from Dracoth.

“ Sí , they did,” Carmen replies, glancing at the door, “But joder , I’m not forgetting where I came from—or where I’m going,” she says through clenched teeth, her sudden intensity surprising me.

Straight to the morgue if she keeps this madness up.

I glance at her, wondering if there’s any point in trying to talk sense into the stubborn woman. It seems to achieve nothing other than an earful of abuse. But I always find myself trying, regardless.

“Maybe where we’re going isn’t so bad,” I gesture to encompass the room, almost choking at the absurdity of highlighting these sparse uninspiring quarters as a reason to be hopeful, but it sure as hell beats the cell. “I mean, things are getting better for us.”

“ Princesa ...” Carmen grimaces, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re smarter than this, chica .” She holds out a hand, almost pleading for me to understand.

I do understand. The problem is, she doesn’t. She’s making a huge mistake.

Before I can exhale and resign myself to the same old argument, the door slides open with a smooth swoosh.

Sandra bursts in, her broad smile drawing our attention.

She’s still dressed in the clothes Dracoth gave her.

I can’t help but feel irked, noticing the colors are less garish, and the gray-furred shoulders add a nice touch.

She’s dressed like the head gnome and we’re her little gnome minions.

“Hey, we found a massive shower room!” Sandra announces in a rush, glancing between Carmen and me. “Well, actually Kazumi found it, but I wanted to let you two know.”

“A shower?” I repeat the words like sweet music to my ears.

“Oh, thank God!” I’d prefer a bath—a massive, scalding-hot tub filled with bath bombs.

.. ah, if only. But I’ll settle for a shower, knowing I probably smell like Michael’s dirty socks at this point—those weapons of mass destruction could strip paint, melt steel, and actually improve Sarah’s unfortunate face.

I turn to Carmen, my joy almost contagious. “See? Things are looking up.” Although she doesn’t appear especially excited or impressed. Still, she follows us out of the room without further argument.

“Oh!” I exclaim, breath catching in my throat as my eyes sweep upward over the towering figure of a mini-Dracoth standing like a statue.

This one has red hair, longer than Dracoth’s, and expressionless yellow eyes that seem to glow in the dim light.

Despite the frightening, ashen-colored armor encasing him, he looks young—barely older than an adolescent.

“Hello,” I mutter, still a bit flummoxed. “What’s your name?” I press, trying for a smile, but it dies on my lips as the red-haired guard only regards me with a blank expression that sends chills down my spine.

“ Pendejo . That’s their name,” Carmen sneers in response. My chest tightens, worried the guard will retaliate, but nothing. He just watches, not a flicker of annoyance or... well, anything. “See? They just follow me, staring like a degenerado . It’s driving me, loca !”

I can’t deny they are very unsettling, but maybe if she stopped attacking everyone, they’d stop stalking her? I bite back the thought, not ready for another argument—not when there’s a shower to get to.

“You could try being a bit nicer to them, Carmen,” Sandra chimes in, right on cue, forcing me to suppress a groan of exasperation at the coming pointless debate.

We continue down the familiar corridors, with the red-haired mini-Dracoth trailing behind us like the universe’s creepiest and most dangerous chaperone.

I wrinkle my nose at the state of the place—dust everywhere, chipped marble, and open panels that look like they’re held together by sheer will.

The entire ship could use a thorough cleaning—or better yet, a complete renovation.

I can almost picture it with nice, pastel-colored walls and softer, warmer lighting. .. Ah, that would be nice...

“Nice?” Carmen snaps, bristling beside me, yanking me from my pleasant daydream, worried she’s somehow read my thoughts. “Nice, to the pendejos who abducted us?” Carmen rounds on Sandra, looking her up and down like she’s dog poop on her shoe. “Oh yeah, you bend over like a good puta for them.”

Here we go.

I inhale sharply, as Sandra recoils as if struck, her mouth working soundlessly. It’s not surprising. Carmen is kind of intense and Sandra’s playing the whole good-girl role. Thank God though—the last thing we need is a stupid catfight.

Then, to my astonishment, Sandra’s eyes flash with something I haven’t seen from her before—rage.

“Fuck you, Carmen!” Sandra roars, surprising everyone, probably herself most of all, judging by her shaking fists and trembling lips. Yet, her blue eyes are locked onto Carmen like sharpened sapphires. “I’m not bending over for anyone! And I’m not taking your hateful crap anymore.”

Carmen wastes no time clenching her fists, squaring up to Sandra. Classic Carmen—resorting to violence when a choice word might solve the situation. The pair glare at each other and I’m surprised Sandra doesn’t back down.

I’ve been on the receiving end of Carmen’s threats before and I know how hard it is to not balk. The Sandra who first arrived on this ship wouldn’t dare fight back, but she’s changed somehow. Is this because of her talk with Dracoth? If so, it doesn’t bode well for me.

“Ladies, ladies,” I sigh, stepping between them with placating hands, trying to diffuse the tension.

I’m doing them both a favor here—they better not forget it.

“Let’s not disgrace ourselves in front of the mini-Dracoth—uh, I mean gentleman.

” I give a nervous nod towards the guard, but of course, he doesn’t react.

Might as well be gesturing to a brick wall.

“Let’s all relax and just enjoy the shower,” I glance between them, plastering on a smile so honeyed it could sweeten sugar. “Okay?”

Carmen turns away first, muttering a stream of Spanish curses under her breath, while I give Sandra a weak smile. She too only turns away, grimacing.

Ungrateful, rude bitches, the pair of them.

What follows is perhaps the most awkward walk of my life.

Well, this or the time I was marched to the principal’s office when that snitch Stacy tattled, I was cheating on my exams. I’ve got two sour-faced women both refusing to speak, and a seven-foot creepy alien giant plodding behind us.

It’s like a bad joke: Great. Amazing. So much fun.

I occupy my mind, trying to keep track of the unending corridors.

It soon becomes an impossible task—they twist and turn like a labyrinth, with staircases leading to who-knows-where.

Some of them look like ominous dark caves I’d sooner avoid.

But one thing is clear—this ship is massive, which means Dracoth may actually be someone rich and important.

The thought comforts me, like those warm furs back in my quarters.

“This is it,” Sandra announces, sounding like a sulky teenager, emphasized by her crossed arms.

“Oh,” I mutter, standing before yet another door that looks indistinguishable from the others. I step through, taking in a room as large as our cell. Black furniture that could be lockers lines the walls, while the center features rows of sleek, black marble benches.

“This is like a changing room,” Sandra says, confirming my initial impression.

She moves to sit on one of the benches with a casual ease that suggests she’s done this before.

I glance at Carmen with a shrug, before heading toward one of the glossy marble lockers.

My fingers fumble with the string toggles of my garish tunic, a slight unease prickling the back of my mind.

But seeing Sandra already stripping down, her reflection in a nearby mirror offering some reassurance, I press on.

“Here are the actual showers.” Sandra gestures to the opposite door. “I’ll see you inside,” she mutters, her bare feet slapping the damp marble floor as she hurries away.

Carmen scans the room, a frown creasing her face, but she doesn’t hesitate long before she starts undressing too. I’m only slightly ahead of her, struggling a bit, seeing how skinny the other women are compared to me.

But screw it, I’m hot stuff.

Now fully undressed, I head for the exit, drawn forward by the sound of rushing water. The door swooshes open and I step inside. Towering golden statues line the expansive room.

“This is more like it,” I declare excitedly. I mean, it’s nothing compared to my usual five-star hotels, but for this dingy spaceship, it’s practically luxury.

Kazumi stands beneath the cascade of water, scrubbing her glossy raven hair like she’s trying to pull her scalp off.

Sandra is next to her, fiddling with some dial on one of the golden statues.

It’s hard to see clearly through the thick, hazy steam that fills the room, but I relish the heat and the soothing sound of water rushing down.

Ah, the sound of clean.

Drawing closer to the others, the strange statues come into focus.

They’re female versions of Dracoth or, to be more accurate, the Clown-dathians .

Each one holds a globe above their heads, and water sprays down from jets hidden within.

The detail is incredible: flowing robes, delicate braids, the subtle gleam of their golden skin—it’s almost unsettling how lifelike they are.

I half expect one of them to step off her pedestal and stroll through the room.