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But as I straightened, my eyes locked onto a man in the distance, and my blood ran cold. Omar Gálvez stood among the onlookers, his hands clapping slowly, deliberately—an eerie smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He seemed to drink in my terror with a sick satisfaction as though my fear were the sweetest sangria.
I staggered backward, and the crowd went silent.
“Rena,” Isaac hissed.
He took my arm and led me away with the other when I didn't respond. When we were out of sight, he turned to me and asked, “Are you okay?”
Every muscle was tense, and I wanted to cry and scream. Everything hurt; everything felt wrong.
Then footsteps neared me, and Antonio appeared at my side. Isaac’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing before he walked away.
“What’s wrong?” Antonio demanded.
“Omar is here,” I murmured, my voice shaking.
“Omar?”
I shook my head. “The man who kept me locked up.”
My mentor’s gaze went to the wall before us as if he could break through the wood, and I saw the barely concealed fury in his eyes. “Stay close, Carmen,” he said, his hand finding mine again, grip firm and protective.
“Should we leave?” I asked, struggling to keep the panic from my voice. I didn’t want to be here, exposed, with the Comerciante Nocturno watching my every move. My skin was burning again, even though my wounds should've been healed.
“I will take care of him,” Antonio replied, his brow furrowed in thought. “For now, ignore him. He won’t do anything tonight.”
I raked a trembling hand through my hair. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what it was like.”
My fingers brushed over my markings, which used to be ugly scars. I swallowed hard, trying to push down the bile that rose in my throat. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between myself and Omar as possible. But I knew Antonio was right. We had to be careful—to play this dangerous game with cunning and guile.
“I don’t know everything, but I know how this will end.” His fingers brushed against mine, and then he turned as a fresh wave of reporters and fans neared us. My heart was still pounding from the performance and Omar’s chilling gaze, but I could compartmentalize for an hour or two. Their hands extended, offering notes, so many that I couldn’t hold them all. I glanced at Antonio, who seemed to share my sense of being overwhelmed.
“Here,” he whispered, gesturing to Javier and Manuel, who quickly stepped forward, their arms outstretched to collect the notes thrust upon me. “Let them help.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, lost in the crowd's clamor. I was sweating so much. As I watched the offerings pile up in their arms, I couldn’t help but remember the note I’d slipped to Antonio after his victory in the Blood Tournament—a dangerous secret that had cost my dear friend Pablo his life. The memory weighed heavily on my heart, a painful reminder of our sacrifices along this treacherous path.
Was it worth it? I didn’t know. But I would keep fighting. I wouldn’t cry in front of all these people.
“Come,” Antonio said gently, leading me through the crowd and away from the festival grounds. His hand was warm and steady against the small of my back, a comforting presence amid the chaos that rioted around us. Then, he took me to a building near the center of the square. We ducked inside, and I prayed no one saw us as he led me to an enclosed balcony.
With every step we took, the noise and lights of the festival faded into the background, replaced by the quiet beauty of the night. The stars above glittered like diamonds scattered across the velvet sky, starkly contrasting the golden glow that emanated from within me. It smelled like snow, and I shivered.
“Are you cold?” Antonio asked.
I smiled. “Not as cold as I will be in the tournament. Nor on my wedding day.”
His expression was serious, but my thoughts drifted to Magda, and I wondered what she would think when she saw me like this—a girl caught between two worlds torn apart by love and duty.
She was in love with Santiago, so I imagined she would understand.
My mind swirled with thoughts of our complex relationship, like tendrils of smoke curling through the air. We were two broken souls, adrift in a world that sought to crush our spirits beneath its iron grip. Yet, as our paths intertwined at that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if this newfound connection would be enough to shield us from the darkness ahead. I wanted to know if our trust could grow like a rose amidst the rubble, a symbol of hope in a land devoid of it.
“Do you trust me?”
I sighed. This again. Antonio kept begging me, demanding my allegiance. At first, it had been an issue because I ran instead of coming to him, but it felt like he knew something he couldn’t tell me. I thought about that box. It plagued my thoughts—so many secrets with him.
And yet, he had helped me. He never lied to me. That was valuable. Even if I wasn’t fully able to say I trusted him, a part of me was undeniably tied to him. He had labored hard to plant seeds of confidence, and I was sure they could blossom with time. “Yes.”
He grinned. Then his hands latched onto my waist, and my breath hitched.
