They kept me in a cell.
Shortly after that revelation, the guards had knocked me unconscious again. I was sprawled on cold concrete the moment I came to. The air damp and stale in my lungs. And for a disorienting moment, I thought I was back in one of the holding rooms I had used for interrogations, one of the places I had dragged my past targets into and broke them.
But this wasn't mine.
The walls were newer, less scarred. No dried rust stains. No carved markings from desperate hands. If I had to guess, this was a contingency site. Something Arturo and my grandfather had established quietly as a precaution. Just in case one of their bloodlines had gone out of line.
My skull throbbed in slow, punishing pulses. Every breath felt heavier than the last, exhaustion dragging at my limbs, temping me to surrender to the dark again.
But unconsciousness was a luxury.
I rolled onto my back, biting down against the flare of pain shooting from my temple to the base of my spine. My muscles protested the movement. My ribs ached. My jaw felt swollen.
The ceiling above me was bare concrete. Clean. Recently poured, if the lack of cracks meant anything. Only a thin layer of dust gathered in the corners.
"Fuck," I rasped, the word scraping against my throat before dissolving into a fit of coughs.
Each one tearing through my chest. My throat felt raw, dry enough that it hurt to breathe.
I didn't even register the heavy steel doors opening. Didn't register it closing.
Footsteps echoing down the other side, measured and unhurried. But I was too busy coughing into my palm to notice. When the spasm finally subsided, I lowered my hand and stared at the dark speckles staining my skin.
Blood. Fuck.
I wiped it against my pants without ceremony before forcing my head up.
Camilla stood on the other side of the bars. Her arms folded, posture rigid. The overhead light carved sharp lines across her face, catching the faint bruise along her jaw. My work.
"Get up," she said.
"No way," I shot back, my voice shredded and uneven as another cough clawed its way out of my throat. Again.
Camilla's mouth curved faintly.
"Not so strong now, are you?"
I laughed once, though it came out strained. "What the fuck do you want?" I muttered. "If you're here to finish me, then do it. Though I can't promise a certain someone won't respond in kind."
My husband.
God, I hoped he hadn't abandoned our plan because of me. He wasn't a reckless by nature. But rage can make men reckless.
Camilla's expression shifted into something sharper.
"Are all of it true?" she demanded.
I didn't need clarification. She certainly wasn't asking about me. She was asking about her father.
About the missing money. The quiet siphoning of funds from our family's ventures. The backroom arrangements that never made it onto official ledgers.
About my grandfather killing his own son and daughter-in-law.
She wanted to know if the rot truly ran that deep.
"You already know it is," I said, holding her gaze. "Your father didn't move without my grandfather. They were partners more than anything."
Her jaw tightened.
"I have no reason to lie," I said evenly. "And if you think your father would've drawn the line here, then you don't know him half as well as you think. They would slaughter their own blood to keep their own grip on power."
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
The world was starting to tilt again. No matter how hard I had tried to hold on.
"Is that why you were so determined to go against them?" she asked quietly.
For the first time since she walked in, she didn't look certain.
"I wasn't just determined," I replied, my jaw tightening. "I wanted their reign to end. After what they've done to me, to my family, they don't deserve to keep breathing easy."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, softer now.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. "I tried. When I came back after my mission." The memory scraped raw. "But you didn't want to hear it. And I understood why. Arturo is your father. No matter what kind of man he is, that bond doesn't break easily."
I held her gaze.
"I don't blame you for choosing him," I said. "I would've done the same with my own."
Camilla's composure cracked.
"I know what you've done to me too, Sol," she said, her voice splintering despite her effort to steady it. "You erased my memories. You don't get to pretend you were protecting me. Why?"
The edges of my vision began to blur again, shadows bleeding inward. I forced my eyes to focus on her face, anchoring myself there.
"To protect you," I managed, my voice thick. Even speaking felt like dragging glass through my throat. "You were already too close to it. I didn't want you involved."
My head dipped forward. I jerked it back up.
Not yet.
"But now you are," I continued, the words slurring despite my effort. "And I...I promised him..."
"Promised who?" she stepped closer to the bars without realizing it. "Sol. Who?"
"Sergio," I mumbled softly.
The room tilted slightly to the left.
I blinked hard, trying to clear it. My body felt heavier by the second, like something slow and heavy was pulling me under. Not just exhaustion.
My fingers curling weakly against the concrete as I tried to push myself upright again, but my arms trembled.
"Tell..." I swallowed, tasting iron. "Just tell my husband where I am."
"Sol—"
"Tell him," I repeated, barely more than a breath. "I promised him I wouldn't disappear again."
The overhead light fractured into two. Then three.
I squinted my eyes, trying to hold onto her face. That doubt in her eyes. But it was already slipping out of focus.
The concrete rushed up slower than it should have.
And there was nothing.