Valeria's POV

The room is dimly lit, the air thick with smoke and the scent of cheap liquor. My mother shifts uncomfortably beside me, her grip on my shoulder tight, nails pressing into my skin. My father's voice is steady, as if what he's about to say is just another business transaction, nothing more.

"How much for the kid?"

Carlos leans back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips as he eyes me. He's younger here, not yet the man who would shape me into something unrecognizable, but still dangerous. Still cruel.

"Depends," he says, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "On how useful she'll be."

I stare at him, at my parents, waiting for them to say something—anything. To tell him no, that they were just joking, that they would never sell their own daughter.

But they don't.

Carlos gestures for me to come closer. I don't move at first, but my mother's nails dig deeper into my skin, forcing me forward. I stand stiffly in front of him, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it will burst through my ribs.

Carlos tilts his head, inspecting me like I'm nothing more than an object. A thing to be appraised.

"She's scrawny," he mutters. "But those eyes..." He leans forward, gripping my chin roughly, forcing me to meet his gaze. "There's fight in her. I can work with that."

My parents say nothing. They just nod and the transaction is made.

Everything shifts violently, like flipping through pages of a book too fast to read.

Pain. Hunger. Fear.

I see myself in the alleys, smaller, weaker, fists clenched, eyes burning with defiance.

A gun in my hands and a man on his knees, begging.

Carlos's voice in my ear, whispering, "Do it, niña. Or be the one in his place."

I pull the trigger. Blood. So much blood. It splatters on my face, I feel it warm on my lips. But I can't flinch, I won't flinch.

Carlos pats my back. "Good girl." The praise used to make my stomach twist. Now, it's the only thing I know.

Everything flickers again. What is happening? Where am I?

Men handing me money, their hands lingering too long, their eyes roaming places I wish they wouldn't. "Take your clothes off."

I do, or they do it violently for me. The implication is enough. I shove the money into my pocket and disappear before they can ask again.

Survival. It's always about survival. Then—

"Valeria."

The voice is soft, yet it cuts through the memories like a blade.

I turn sharply. There's a shadow behind me, standing just at the edge of the darkness, where the past and the present blur together.

I glance back at Carlos.

"Who is that?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Carlos exhales a puff of smoke, barely sparing it a glance. "Ignore it."

But I can't. The voice echoes again.

"Valeria... come back."

My pulse quickens. The shadow is familiar. It shouldn't be here, in this place filled with ghosts and blood.

I reach for it.

As my fingers brush against the darkness, it vanishes.

A wave of panic crashes into me.

No, no, I need to see it again. I need to hear it.

Carlos's voice fades, the world around me crumbling into nothing.

Then I hear it again—closer this time, warmer.

"Please... don't leave me."

The past shatters, leaving me adrift in the darkness.

A voice echoes, soft but desperate— "I love you."

I freeze.

Who? Who said that?

"Hello?" My voice wavers, but the silence swallows it whole.

No answer. No presence.

Just emptiness. Just the dark.

Emilia's POV

A week.

It's been a whole week, and Valeria still hasn't woken up.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, steady, relentless. It should be comforting—it means she's still here, still fighting—but instead, it makes my chest feel tight. Like a clock ticking down, like time slipping away from me.

Lucia enters quietly, her presence grounding me for just a moment. She places a gentle hand on my shoulder, her voice soft.

"Miss Emilia, do you need anything?"

I shake my head without looking at her. "No. I'm fine."

Lucia hesitates before speaking again. "I'm going to clean her wounds, change the bandages, and wipe her down."

My breath catches.

I glance at Valeria, at the fragile rise and fall of her chest, at her pale lips, at the way she looks so small despite all the strength I know she carries. The thought of anyone else touching her, of anyone else tending to her while she's so vulnerable—something about it makes my face burn.

I swallow hard and push myself up. "I—I'll give you space."

Lucia nods, and I force my legs to move, stepping out of the room before I can second-guess myself.

As soon as I step into the hallway, I nearly run into my father and Dani.

My father straightens immediately, eyes filled with concern. "Any news?"

I shake my head. "None. She's still not waking up."

My father exhales, rubbing his forehead. I know he's worried, but he doesn't press further.

Dani, on the other hand, crosses her arms and tilts her head, her expression unreadable—except for the slight glint of something in her eyes.

Something sharp.

"Isn't it bothering you?" she says, voice casual but deliberate.

I frown. "What?"

Dani gestures vaguely. "The fact that she showed up here with a bloody knife."

My stomach twists.

Dani continues, tone light but laced with something darker. "The doctor said her wound wasn't from a blade. So whose blood do you think was on that knife, Emilia?"

My throat goes dry.

I know exactly what she's hinting at.

"You think I care?" My voice is calm, but it's not steady.

Dani raises a brow. "So you're not even curious? Not even a little? About what she did before she came stumbling into your arms covered in blood?"

I clench my jaw.

"She's not just a street rat," Dani continues, stepping closer. "She's a murderer."

The word slices through the air like a blade.

Something inside me snaps.

I take a step forward, closing the distance between us until we're nearly nose to nose. My hands are trembling, but my voice is ice.

"If you ever speak about her like that in my house again, you will no longer be welcome here."

Dani blinks, her mouth parting slightly. She wasn't expecting that.

I don't wait for her response.

I turn and walk away, my pulse hammering in my ears.

By the time I reach my bedroom door, my hands are still shaking. I pause for a second, pressing my palm flat against the wood, grounding myself. Then, I push it open.

Valeria is exactly as I left her—still, quiet, fragile in a way she never should be.

I move toward the bed slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the moment.

I don't touch her. I don't dare.

Instead, I lay beside her, close enough to feel her warmth but not enough to disturb her.

My eyes trace the curve of her cheek, the soft parting of her lips, the slow, steady rhythm of her breath.

"You're going to wake up," I whisper, even though I don't know if she can hear me. "You have to."

The weight of exhaustion presses down on me, and before I can fight it, my eyes slip shut.

I fall asleep watching her.

Valeria's POV

My mind feels heavy, wrapped in a fog so thick it's suffocating. I try to move, but my limbs resist, weighed down by exhaustion and something else I can't quite name. There's a dull ache pulsing through my side, but it's distant, secondary to the strange stillness in my body.

Where am I? Was I dreaming?

The air around me is unfamiliar, but the scent isn't. Faint traces of perfume linger—soft, clean, something distinctly her. My surroundings begin to take shape, the dim lighting casting shadows along the walls. The ceiling is high, too elegant, too pristine. Then it clicks.

Emilia's room.

I inhale slowly, steadying myself as I turn my head. My entire body stiffens.

She's lying beside me.

Close. Too close.

She's curled on her side, not touching me, but near enough that I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her skin looks paler than before, how fragile she appears. Her body is thinner, as if she hasn't been eating, and her lips are chapped.

How long have I been out?

My chest tightens, an unfamiliar pressure settling there as I take her in. She looks... exhausted. Worn down in a way that makes something deep inside me twist.

Then, she stirs.

A soft breath escapes her lips as her eyelashes flutter. Slowly, she opens her eyes, her gaze hazy with sleep. For a moment, she just looks at me, blinking as if she's not sure I'm real.

Then, her breath catches.

Her entire face changes—her lips parting, her eyes widening, her entire body going rigid before her expression crumbles entirely.

Tears fill her eyes so quickly, it's like she's been holding them back for days.

"Valeria..." Her voice is barely a whisper, cracking around my name.

I should say something. I should move, sit up, anything. But I don't.

I just watch as her tears spill over, silent but endless, her shoulders trembling as if she can barely contain the emotions flooding through her.

Am I dreaming?" Her voice is fragile, like a thread unravelling, and I feel it pull at something deep inside me.

"I'm not?" she sobs, shaking her head as if she's trying to convince herself. "I'm not... You woke up."

She presses her hands to her face, trying to hold back her emotions, but it's useless. Tears stream down her cheeks, silent but relentless.

I don't know how long I've been lying here, staring at her, watching her fall apart.

I want to say something, anything, but my throat is raw, burning with the effort. My body feels weak, my limbs heavy, but I force my hand to move, lifting it slowly. The back of my fingers brush against her cheek, light as a whisper.

Her breath catches.

She stills, eyes wide, as if the touch alone is enough to steal the air from her lungs.

The way she looks at me—soft, intense, something I can't name—makes me retreat. I don't understand it. I never do.

Emilia's POV

She nods at me weakly, her eyes growing heavier.

"Valeria?" I whisper, my fingers curling around the sheets, watching her eyelids flutter closed again.

For a moment, panic grips me. She was awake—really awake—but now she's slipping away.

But her breathing is steady. Her chest rises and falls in slow, even movements. She's just tired. She needs rest. She's not slipping away.

I force myself to breathe.

My heart is still hammering in my chest as I push myself up from the bed. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I don't care. I don't even think.

I run.

The moment I step out of the room, I'm already calling for Lucia. My voice shakes, and I don't care if the entire house hears me.

"Lucia!" My voice echoes down the hallway.

Footsteps. A door swings open, and Lucia emerges from the corridor, startled. Her eyes widen at the sight of me, breathless, frantic.

"Miss Emilia?"

"She—she's awake," I gasp, gripping the doorframe for support. "Valeria. She woke up."

Lucia's face morphs from shock to relief, her shoulders dropping, but then she snaps into action. "Dios mío," she mutters, already moving toward me. "Are you sure?"

I nod quickly, still catching my breath. "She looked at me—she touched—she— my face!" My voice cracks, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself.

Lucia's hands settle firmly on my shoulders, grounding me. "Breathe, Miss Emilia. She's awake—that's good. That's what we were waiting for."

I nod, swallowing hard, my fingers still trembling. "Call the doctor. Please, now."

Lucia doesn't hesitate. She turns swiftly, heading toward the sitting room where the house phone is.

I pace. My hands shake. My thoughts are spinning too fast to catch.

She's awake.

I should be relieved. I am relieved. But the terror still lingers beneath my skin, crawling up my spine.

What if she closes her eyes and never wakes up again?

I shake my head violently. No. Don't think like that.

Lucia returns minutes later, pressing the phone to her ear, speaking quickly. "Sí, doctor, she just woke up. She moved, but she's weak. Please come as soon as possible."

She listens for a moment, then nods. "Gracias. We'll be waiting."

Lucia hangs up and turns to me. "He's on his way."

I exhale sharply, a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. "Thank you."

Lucia studies me carefully. "You should sit down, Miss Emilia. You look like you're about to collapse."

I shake my head. "No. I—I need to be with her."

"Miss Emilia—"

"I need to be with her, Lucia." My voice trembles, but my resolve is solid.

Lucia doesn't argue. She simply nods, stepping aside.

I take one last deep breath before I turn and walk back into the room.

I kneel beside the bed, my breath shallow, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. My eyes never leave her, watching, waiting for any sign—any movement.

Then, a slight furrow in her brow.

"Emilia," she murmurs, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. Her eyes remain closed, as if she's still drifting between consciousness and whatever place she's been lost in.

I surge forward, grasping her hand gently. "I'm here!" My voice trembles with relief. "I'm here, Val."

Her lips part slightly, and her lashes flutter as she struggles to open her eyes.

"Hey..." My voice softens, trailing off as our gazes finally meet

"Told you..." she chokes out, her voice raspy and strained. She pauses, wincing slightly, clearly in pain, but still forces the words out. "I'd return the knife."

That's what she's thinking about right now? After everything?

A soft chuckle escapes me despite myself, shaking my head at her sheer stubbornness. Even now, she's still the same.

But something is wrong.

Her eyes—usually sharp, piercing—are unfocused, hazy with confusion. She blinks slowly, as if the world around her is still a blur, as if she's unsure whether this moment is real.

The door opens, and the doctor steps in with Lucia trailing behind him. My heart is still racing from running to get them, my breath uneven, but I don't care. She's awake. That's all that matters.

The doctor moves quickly, his eyes sharp as he assesses Valeria. He sets his bag down beside the bed, already pulling on gloves.

"She just woke up?" he asks, not looking at me as he reaches for her wrist, checking her pulse.

"Yes," I manage to say, swallowing hard. "She spoke to me, but... she seems weak."

Lucia hovers beside me, her hands wringing together as she watches. I can feel her relief, but also the tension radiating off of her.

Valeria lies still, her gaze heavy-lidded, but she's watching him warily. I can tell she doesn't like this—being examined, being touched—but she doesn't protest.

The doctor presses two fingers gently against her throat, checking her pulse there next. Then he reaches for the bandages wrapped around her wound.

"This may hurt," he warns before he begins to carefully peel back the layers.

Valeria barely reacts, only letting out a slow breath, but I see the way her fingers twitch against the sheets, the small way her jaw tightens.

I bite my lip, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I hate this. I hate watching her in pain.

The moment the last bandage is removed, the doctor leans in to inspect the wound. I force myself to look, even though my stomach churns at the sight of it—an angry, deep cut still healing, the skin around it bruised but no longer as swollen as before.

The doctor nods slightly. "No sign of infection," he says, his voice calm. "That's good. But the stitches will need another few days before they're strong enough."

He turns to Valeria, meeting her exhausted gaze. "Do you feel any numbness?"

Valeria stares at him for a second before slowly shaking her head.

"Dizziness?"

A pause. Then, a nod.

"That's expected," he murmurs, checking her temperature next, his fingers brushing against her forehead. "You lost a lot of blood. Your body is still catching up."

He presses lightly around the wound, testing the area, and this time, Valeria flinches—just barely, but I notice.

The doctor does too. "Pain?"

"...A little," she mutters, her voice hoarse.

He nods again, not surprised. "You'll need to take it easy. No sudden movements, no stress on your side, and definitely no walking around alone."

I exhale sharply, relief mingling with lingering worry.

"She needs more rest," the doctor continues, finally turning toward me. "But she's stable. That's the most important thing."

I nod quickly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Lucia steps forward, her voice softer. "Is there anything else she needs?"

He glances at Valeria, then back at us. "Keep her hydrated, make sure she eats, and most importantly—don't let her overexert herself. She's stubborn, I can tell." His eyes flicker with mild amusement. "But her body needs time."

I swallow hard, nodding again. I won't let her push herself. I won't let anything happen to her.

The doctor finishes re-bandaging the wound and then straightens, peeling off his gloves. "I'll check on her again in the next two days."

Valeria stays quiet through all of it, her gaze distant, as if she's trying to process everything.

As the doctor starts packing up his things, she finally turns her head, her eyes landing on me.

And for the first time since she woke up, I feel like she's really looking at me.

Not just seeing me—really looking.

And God, it makes my breath catch.