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He seemed genuinely wounded by my harsh words, and he retreated behind his desk. After he sat down, he steepled his fingers and fixed me with a careful, studious expression.
"You know you can trust me, Carmen. I know you know that. Tell me what they did to you,” he demanded, his voice low and urgent, laced with concern that was almost palpable. The question hung in the air, punctuating the silence that had grown between us like ivy creeping up a crumbling wall.
I swallowed thickly. He was baiting me, but I wasn’t in the mood to give in. “Tell me why you need to send a letter to the Canciller,” I retorted. Even if my heart fluttered at his gaze, my resolve was strong.
“I am a mentor. I always have paperwork that involves the Canciller,” he countered, taking a step toward me.
I tilted my chin up, ignoring the nagging reminder that Javier and Manuel were watching.
“Stop pretending like this is straightforward. I’m sure you know what I did, why I ran. There is no world in which the Canciller didn’t tell you.”
The unease that laced my voice sent tendrils of anxiety coiling through the room, like wisps of smoke in search of something to choke. I opened my mouth to speak, but Antonio's sudden interruption cut me off with a sharp edge.
"Running off like that was idiotic!" His voice spat, echoing within the walls of the study, a storm unleashed. “I could’ve helped you. I would have if you had come to me… instead, after two days of searching day and night, I heard that some Comerciante Nocturno was selling time with La Chica Dorada.”
In the dim light of the room, his eyes appeared darker than usual, as if the weight of a thousand unspoken fears had multiplied the shadows in his soul.
"Did you not think of the consequences?" he continued, his voice strained. "You were supposed to be safe here with me, but instead, you put yourself in danger." He paced, his words lashing at me like a torrential rain. It should’ve hurt, but the way he said ‘with me’ felt like warm bubbles floating through my veins. Then I saw Isaac’s dead body. A gust of determination blew away the fog of distress, and I stood taller, ready to defend myself against the tempest that was Antonio.
His six-foot frame took up familiar space in the room, his pale olive skin and light brown eyes unmistakable even under the harsh office lights. Though we were the same height, he had a way of commanding spaces that I appreciated.
“At least tell me exactly what happened the night you ran away,” Antonio began, his voice firm.
“No.”
Antonio groaned. “Damn it all.”
He raked his hand through his hair while he paced the room. He thrust his hand out into the air, pointing between the two of us. “I have lobbied for you, protected you, given you everything you need to succeed. There are some things I can’t share, but surely you know…” He trailed off, staring at a bookshelf in his office.
I opened my mouth because I thought he was done, but he fisted his hands and said, “The last time anyone saw Martina de León, she was with you. Even though everyone said it was a heart attack, there are those who believe otherwise. The rumors are still whispers in back rooms, but I can’t help you if I don’t know.”
I looked up at him. Tears seared my eyes. “What if I can’t tell you?” Killing someone was one of the lines I never thought I’d cross, and now I would be forced to live with seeing the light fade from Martina’s eyes every time I closed my eyes from now to eternity.
How could Antonio understand if he had been in the tournaments and won? The life of the Élites was a slow-drip of poison, numbing them to cruelty. By the time they were grown, they no longer saw the masses lifting them up through hard labor—they no longer cared that ascending the ladder to power meant stepping on the backs of others.
If I told Antonio how much I abhorred killing, he would call me weak.
But, like the stone slowly eroded by the river, Antonio wore me down. “Then you tell me anyway, and I’ll fill in the rest.”
I broke. The palm of my hand slapped my forehead, as if I could smack the pain out of my brain. “Fine! Damn you, Antonio.” My eyes were blurry with tears, but his face had softened.
"Martina de León is dead because she tried to assassinate me," I said, viciously blocking the mental image that accompanied it. My fingers itched with the ghostly sensation of blood. "I saw Isaac die. She stabbed him, by accident, and then the Canciller found me in the hallway." My hands trembled slightly, the memory of Martina's ice-cold gaze chilling me to the bone. "I had no choice but to run." I left out everything that she had called me, and the story she had uncovered about my brother.
Antonio's anger dissipated, replaced by a profound sadness that seemed to weigh on the very air around us.
"Your story is not much different from what the Canciller told me. Except, Carmen, Isaac isn’t dead. He entered hibernation. The Canciller’s personal Médicos saved him,” he said, each word wrapped in pain. "None of this explains why you didn’t come to me, though. Why did you run alone?"
His vulnerability pierced through me, as though the sharp edge of a blade had sliced into my soul. I could see the torment etched in every line of his face, and the shattered remnants of trust that lay scattered at our feet.
"I was so scared, Antonio. I thought... I thought I'd be putting you in danger too.” My voice was so quiet, a fragile whisper of truth.
He looked away, his jaw clenched tightly, and it appeared the weight of the world rested upon his broad shoulders. It was a burden he carried with grace, despite the oppressive darkness that threatened to consume him. In this moment, I saw not only his strength, but also the cracks that marred his otherwise unyielding facade.
"Trust..." he murmured, lost in the echo of a memory. "It's in such short supply these days. And yet, I thought we had something more than that, Carmen."
I could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill over, the burn of regret searing through my heart. I had let him down, and the realization was a heavy stone that settled in the pit of my stomach.
"You speak of trust, but still refuse to give me proper answers. If trust means so much to you, why don’t you trust me?" I asked. A part of me trusted Antonio, but a part of me also thought I was in love a few hours ago. I wasn’t the best judge lately. “Don’t you see it hurts me?”
