29

29


Javier

I had no idea how much time had passed since I entered the office with Marco.
The clock on the wall read something close to ten at night, but I no longer trusted my sense of time, too caught up in deciding the best routes to Veracruz. The task seemed simple, but recent events added layers of complexity and tension.

“We need to consider the roadblocks on the main highways. The intel we got points to unusual activity near Córdoba,” Marco said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He rubbed his chin, eyes fixed on the map spread out over the table.

I nodded, adjusting my chair and looking over the scattered papers.
“Taking the 180 highway seems safer, but it’s also longer. That means more exposure.”

Marco let out a heavy sigh, leaning over the table.
“Exactly. And the longer we’re on the road, the greater the risk. We need to choose between safety and speed.”

I stayed silent for a moment, fingers tapping the surface of the table. Every decision felt like it came at a greater cost than its reward. Deep down, I knew these attacks weren’t random—whoever it was, they were making it clear they knew where and how to strike.

“And the escort?” I finally asked. “How many men do you think we can allocate without compromising security here?”

Marco adjusted his collar, thoughtful.
“Five men would be ideal, but we might need to reinforce the house while you’re gone. We don’t know if they’re targeting you, Camille, or the organization as a whole.”

My brow furrowed at the mention of her name. The thought of leaving Camille vulnerable in my absence was unacceptable. But I also knew that keeping a large number of men with me in Veracruz could be seen as a sign of weakness. Losing balance between those two worlds wasn’t an option.

“Then we reinforce here—two more men at the entrance and around the grounds. I’ll take three with me,” I decided firmly. “I want the security here at the house to be discreet but effective.”

Marco nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. He hesitated before speaking again.
“You think these attacks are about Veracruz? Or is it something more… personal?”

The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at Marco, eyes narrowed.
“With what we’re dealing with, Marco, everything is personal.”

He only nodded, understanding the weight of my words. Straightening up, he gathered the papers on the table, ready to leave.
“I’ll organize the men,” he said, walking toward the door.

“Marco,” I called out before he left. He paused, looking back. “No mistakes. Whoever they are, they’re waiting for a slip-up. We can’t give them that.”

“Understood.” And with that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving me in the office.

For a moment, I allowed the fatigue to catch up with me. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the tension in my shoulders. The feeling of being watched, even when alone, never seemed to go away. Whoever was playing this game knew exactly how to press every weak spot. But I knew how to play too.
And now, it was only a matter of time before we found out who would fall first.

The heavy silence in the office was broken by a subtle movement. I felt it before I saw it—someone at the door. I slowly looked up, and there she was—Camille—standing in the half-open doorway, her curious eyes scanning the room.

For a second, she seemed hesitant, almost as if deciding whether or not she should interrupt.
When our eyes finally met, I saw a slight tremble in her shoulders, and her expression quickly shifted. Maybe she was surprised to have been noticed.

Camille knocked twice lightly on the door with her knuckles before stepping in, her cautious footsteps echoing through the space. Marco turned his head toward her but stayed silent, as he always did when she was around.

“I think you two should take a break before you starve,” Camille said, her voice firm, but with a light tone.

I looked at her, one corner of my mouth lifting in an involuntary smile. Her concern was unexpected, and I didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“No need, we’re almost finished,” I replied, gesturing at the papers on the table, though I knew that wasn’t entirely true.

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms, only reinforcing the authority in her stance.
“Javier, ‘almost finished’ is what you said last time Carmen saw you leave the office. That was hours ago.”

Marco cleared his throat, trying not to smile. Camille gave him a brief glance before returning her attention to me.
“You need energy to keep thinking. I already asked Carmen to prepare something light. Just accept it, please.”

I sighed, rising from my chair and adjusting my shirt collar.
“All right, a break won’t kill us.”

Marco muttered something about “orders from the boss” as he gathered the papers on the table, clearly pleased to have a reason to step away for a bit. Camille stepped back, moving out of the way to let us pass, but before I could walk through the door, she caught my arm briefly.

“You need to take care of yourself too, Javier,” she said, her voice low, but with a firmness that couldn’t be ignored.

For a moment, I remained silent, just watching her. There was an intensity in her eyes that was hard to decipher. I didn’t respond right away—just a short nod—before moving on, Marco right behind me.

As we walked toward the dining room, I couldn’t help but think that, even with all the tension around us, Camille seemed to be the only constant that made me stop and think about what truly mattered.
And though I’d never say it out loud, maybe that was exactly what I needed.