26
DANIELA
The testing centerisn’t what I expected.
Cold air, polished floors, and a receptionist with a voice so soft it barely stirs the hum of the fluorescent lights.Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the ache that never leaves me—I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest.
Hawk means well.He always means well.Even when he was chasing Jordan around like a madman, he meant well.It was all for me.
The private waiting area is lined with beige chairs and a single wooden shelf filled with books.Textbooks, mostly, though there are a few older ones, cracked spines and faded gold lettering.Someone’s tried to make the place look comforting, but it just makes me nervous.
Because that smell—disinfectant and paper—snaps me back in time so hard my lungs forget how to work.
For a second, I’m not here anymore.I’m sixteen again, standing in my father’s office, the heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, the air thick with cigar smoke and something darker.
* * *
Jacinto Agudelo’soffice is perfect.Always perfect.
The girls are so young.Each one dressed like a porcelain doll—tailored dresses, ribboned braids, little shoes that click softly against the tile.One of them carries a stuffed cat.Another bites her lip so hard I think she’ll draw blood.
“Choose,” he says.
My mouth is dry.“Excuse me?”
He nods to the row.“Pick one.”
I look at him, at the girls, back at him again.I open my mouth.No sound.I swallow hard enough to hurt and try again.
“Pick one,” I repeat, because I’m still not sure what’s going on.“For what?”
He nods.“Each of them comes from a respectable family.Healthy lineage, well-behaved, obedient.I’ve chosen them personally for Señor Vega’s pleasure.”
The world tilts.“For Vega?”
“Of course.You’ve been…indisposed.”He says it like it’s a minor inconvenience.Like I missed a dental appointment.“Vega is not a man who tolerates disappointment.”
“I’ll go to him,” I say quickly.“Please.Let me.I’ll?—”
He shakes his head.“You’re contaminated, Daniela.He doesn’t want to touch you until the infection clears.You should be grateful he’s patient enough to wait at all.”
“Then let him wait!”I cry.“You can’t do this to them?—”
He slaps the desk hard enough to make the pens jump.“Enough.”His voice drops to a growl.“This is not a discussion.You’ll choose which of them he’ll have tonight.”
I can’t breathe.
He smiles like a snake.“You’ve always had good taste.Consider it a test of character.”
I shake my head.“No.”
His sigh is almost theatrical.“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
He opens a drawer and pulls out his gun—a silver one, polished so bright the light glints off the barrel.He points it at me like he’s done it a hundred times before.Maybe he has.
My heart races, but not out of fear that my father will use the gun on me.My fear is for the girls.
“Choose, Daniela.”
