She shows me around the burnt building, explaining how her vision will come together here. Her assistants, moving with us, rapidly list problems as Luciana speaks, along with solutions where they have them, and where they don’t, it’s noted as unresolved.
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement: someone in black clothes. I turn my head, and whoever was there is gone. A frown pulls between my brows.Who could it be?Or maybe I’m just overthinking. There are Luciana’s team members and my bodyguards all around. It could be any of them.
Once we finish one site, we move to the next. After repeating the same process, we move to the third. And by now, I’m sure someone is following me, someone not from Luciana’s team or my security. I’ve spotted him nearly a dozen times, but he vanishes whenever I look his way. Either I’m losing my mind, which wouldn’t be hard to believe, or someone is stalking me.
I look around the place we’re in now. It’s in the part of the city where new houses and shops have already gone up. Unlike the other two locations we visited, this place isn’t abandoned; there are people here.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” I say to Luciana, who nods without fully paying attention. She’s lost in her head, and in the land before her.
I walk around the corner of the collapsed building. I move toward the area with shops and people walking about. I stop near a shop, and moments later, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a figure dressed in black near a half-constructed shop. I turn my head, and he disappears inside.
I know I should either go back or call my bodyguards. He could be an enemy who followed me here to hurt me.But a tiny part of me—that’s desperate to breathe—wants to believe it’s him. If Salvario ever decides to come, he surely won’t show up at my front door. His last interaction with my family wasn’t good. What’s happening right now is one of the scenarios I’ve imagined a thousand times for our reunion. That’s why I’m also open to the possibility that I could be hallucinating, seeing my imagination in reality.
I step inside the shop. Whether it’s a hallucination or an enemy, I have to see, for the sake of that slim chance it’s Salvario.
Inside, a man in a black shirt and trousers stands with his back to me. Same height. Same build. My heart begins to batteragainst my chest, like a stone rattling inside an empty vessel caught in a storm. I walk toward him, slowly.
The closer I get, the more the fear that it’s a hallucination grows. Each step grows heavier. Sweat slicks my palms. I’m not breathing. Whatever sense I have left fades as I reach him and place a hand on his shoulder.
He’s real.
He turns. His nose and mouth are hidden behind a black mask, but I can see the upper half of the face I've seen in so many nightmares and daydreams.
The same gray eyes, holding a look my soul recognizes too well, as if he too had been buried in the hollow of his own ribs, breathing dust, until this one second dragged him back into life.
My throat locks. No sound comes out, just a suffocated sob. I throw my arms around him. The warmth I’ve been dying to feel engulfs me. He doesn’t smell like cedarwood, it’s tobacco and spicy citrus. I clutch the back of his black shirt, sobbing into his chest.
“You came.”
His arms crush me to his chest.
“You finally came.”
I keep sobbing against his chest.
“I knew you’d come.”
My fists ball his shirt. My legs give out.
He strokes my head. “Don’t cry.”
I cry harder at the sound of his voice and cling tighter. There’s no room to breathe, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, he’s finally here. He tries to pull me away; I refuse to let go. My chest burns from lack of air and sobbing, but how can I let go? What if he disappears again?
He pushes me away harder. I release the back of his shirt and grip his sides. His forehead is creased in a pained frown, hiseyes red-rimmed. He cups my face and wipes my tears, but they won’t stop.
“Breathe,” he urges, his voice hoarse.
I nod jerkily, gasping through my mouth, not tearing my eyes from his face.
I release his shirt on one side and reach for his face. With trembling fingers, I pull the mask away.I need to see him.
Both my hands—one from his face, one from his shirt—fall away as the mask drops. My heart stops.
“What happened to your face?” My voice trembles.
His nose, his lips, his jaw… all different. His nose is sharper and different in shape. His lips are fuller, and unlike the round curve they once had, his upper lip now dips into a heart shape. His jaw is squarer.
He must have had surgery—yes, that’s it.
