The rain didn’t just fall; it hammered against the rusted hood of the '84 sedan, a rhythmic drumbeat to the silence between them. Outside, the lights of the border checkpoint flickered like dying stars.
He let out a breath he’d been holding for miles. He didn't turn the car around. Instead, he shifted into gear, the engine groaning in protest as they rolled toward the lights. They weren't running anymore; they were arriving. Together. Contigo a muerte
Mateo gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Beside him, Elena was tying a makeshift bandage around her forearm, her movements slow but precise. The rain didn’t just fall; it hammered against
"We don’t have to do this," Mateo whispered, his voice cracking. "I can take the fall. You can still walk away." The rain didn’t just fall
