Page 43 of South of Justice

She looked at his fingers curled around hers. They were warm and steady. She remembered how his hands had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him. She’d never had a dirty thought about him; never fantasized about those hands gripping her hair or her ass, but that might have come, if she’d let him in. If she hadn’t been hypnotized, like a snake dancing to Javier’s tune.

And it wasn’t too late, right?

She squeezed Mateo’s hands, and he squeezed back. For the first time in weeks, she let herself breathe. “You’d really help me?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

“We’ll figure it out. We just need time.”

She nodded. Slowly.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Meet me at my place. We’ll plan everything then.”

“Okay.”

He squeezed her hand again. “I missed you,” he said.

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t let go either. And for the first time since she set foot in this place, she began to feel the tension drain from her body, and a petal of hope begin to bloom.

Lucía stood outside Mateo’s apartment, her heart beating fast. She’d walked here, carrying nothing but the USB in her jacket pocket and her phone. Every step she’d taken had felt lighter than the last.

They had a plan. Mateo had said they’d fix it. Together.

She knocked again. Firmer this time.

Nothing.

The hallway was quiet. No neighbors coming or going. Just the ticking fluorescent overhead and the low buzz of a dying fly near the window.

She tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. Her stomach dropped. She stood on the threshold, the handle still in her hand, ice creeping up her spine.

It took all her mental strength to convince herself to step inside.

“Mateo?”

No answer.

The place was dim. Curtains still drawn. Coffee mug half-full on the table. Seeing them gave her a flare of hope. Maybe he’d overslept. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe?—

She turned toward the bedroom. And stopped.

The smell hit her first, metallic and musky. The light from the hallway fell across the floorboards. His hand was visible just past the edge of the bed. Palm-up. Still. Fingers half-curled like they’d tried, and failed, to grasp something in the final seconds.

There was blood on the walls. And the floor. Not a pool.Aspill. It had soaked into the grain of the wood like ink into paper.

She didn’t scream, she just stood there. Panic and horror were crawling up her windpipe, clutching at her throat,preventing any sound from escaping. The USB in her coat pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

This was the consequence. This was what happened when you saidyesto someone else.

Then she heard a sound. A softclickin the hallway.

Lucía froze. The door to the stairwell creaked shut, echoing down the corridor.

Her pulse climbed into her throat. Whoever did this wasn’t just gone, they’d only left minutes ago.

There was a buzz in her pocket. She pulled her phone out with trembling fingers. No number. Just a message.