I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, the gritty residue of sleep and helicopter exhaust still clinging to my shes.

  The bed felt vast and cold—eerily empty—sheets tangled where Car's body should have been. I reached out instinctively, fingers brushing only cool cotton, and my stomach gave a small, uneasy twist. She wasn't here.

  Then I heard it: the low, rhythmic thump of a tuba rolling through the floorboards above, followed by the bright, wheezing cry of an accordion weaving in and out like ughter.

  Music—live, loud, unmistakably norte?o—drifting down from upstairs, punctuated by the occasional whoop and the clink of gss.

  We'd only nded two hours ago. The memories of the gunshots dancing in the te-afternoon sun that had poured through the windows when we arrived. What the hell was going on?

  I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, feet finding the worn rubber of my Crocs. The floor was cool against my soles as I padded out into the hallway, the music growing clearer with every step—now yered with the sharp snap of a snare drum and the low murmur of voices.

  The corridor was dim, lit only by the soft glow of wall sconces, and empty. No footsteps, no shadows moving behind closed doors. Just the music pulling me forward like a current.

  Halfway down the hall I spotted Le—tall, broad-shouldered, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail that never seemed to loosen no matter how long the day dragged.

  She stood at the foot of the staircase like a sentinel, arms folded loosely across her chest, tactical vest still on over a pin bck tee. Her eyes flicked to me the moment I appeared, alert as always, but her mouth curved into a small, genuine smile when she recognized me.

  "Hey, Miguel," she said, voice low and warm, the faintest trace of an accent softening the edges.

  "Hi," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck as I gnced around the deserted floor. "What's going on up there? Sounds like a full banda just rolled in."

  Le's smile widened a fraction, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Ms. Juárez didn't tell you?" She tilted her head toward the stairs, where the music swelled again—a lively polka rhythm that made the banister vibrate faintly.

  "Last-second party. A way for people to de-stress before the war starts for real. Everyone's upstairs—family, crew, a few old friends. Food, drinks, dancing. Car figured we all needed one good night before shit gets serious."

  It clicked then, the pieces falling into pce like tumblers in a lock. The sudden music, the empty lower floors, the way Car had been quieter than usual on the flight back—pnning this, probably, while I'd been staring out the window trying not to think about the body we'd left behind on the road. A final exhale of normalcy before the storm.

  I let out a slow breath, tension I hadn't realized I was carrying easing just a little from my shoulders. "Makes sense," I muttered, more to myself than to Le.

  She nodded, stepping aside to give me a clear path up the stairs. "She's waiting for you. Said to send you up when you woke up. Go on—join the chaos. You could use it too."

  I hesitated for half a second, then started climbing, the music growing louder, warmer, wrapping around me like an invitation. The scent of grilled carne asada and fresh tortils drifted down to meet me, mingling with cigarette smoke and the sharp bite of tequi.

  Somewhere above, Car's ugh cut through the noise—bright, unrestrained—and my chest loosened a little more.

  Whatever was coming tomorrow, tonight at least, we were still alive. Still together. Still fighting for one more sunrise.

  As I crested the top of the stairs onto the third floor, the music hit me like a warm wave—full-throated tuba bsts rolling beneath the bright, insistent cry of the accordion, yered with snapping snare drums and the rhythmic stomp of boots on hardwood.

  The smell came right behind it: sizzling carne asada straight off the grill, fresh cintro and lime, warm corn tortils, the sharp bite of fresh salsa, and underneath it all the sweet smokiness of mesquite charcoal drifting through open windows.

  The hallway opened into a wide, high-ceilinged party space that must have once been a grand sa—polished tile floors, exposed wooden beams strung with strings of warm Edison bulbs that cast a golden glow over everything.

  A small banda was set up in the far corner: five musicians in matching bck shirts and embroidered vests, sweat already shining on their foreheads as they tore through a lively norte?o cssic.

  A portable grill smoked near the open balcony doors, manned by a couple of Car's girls flipping strips of meat with long tongs, while long folding tables groaned under ptters of elotes, quesadils, bowls of guacamole, and stacks of cold Pacifico bottles sweating in ice buckets.

  A handful of women were already dancing in the center of the room—boots kicking up dust motes, hips swaying with easy swagger, arms raised as they spun their partners or just grooved solo to the beat.

  Some of the women clustered along the edges, leaning against walls or perched on mismatched chairs, sipping drinks and watching with amused smiles, occasionally cpping or calling out encouragement.

  Heads turned as I stepped fully into the light—curious gnces, a few nods of recognition, a couple of raised brows at the obvious partner of Car in Crocs and yesterday's hoodie who clearly hadn't gotten the memo about the dress code.

  I felt every inch of how out of pce I looked, like I'd wandered into someone else's dream.

  Car spotted me immediately. She was seated at the head of one of the longer tables, legs crossed, a half-empty bottle of tequi and a shot gss in front of her, surrounded by a loose circle of her inner circle—Cecilia on one side, and a couple of lieutenants I'd met.

  The moment our eyes met, her whole face softened, the hard lines of command melting into something warmer, private.

  She patted the empty chair beside her.

  I crossed the room, weaving between swaying bodies and dodging a tray of fresh michedas carried by one of the younger girls.

  When I finally dropped into the seat next to her, Car's arm slid around my shoulders without hesitation—strong, possessive, anchoring. She pulled me in close until my side pressed against hers, her thumb rubbing slow, absent circles against the back of my neck like she could feel the tension knotted there.

  "Hey, baby..." she murmured, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear it over the music.

  "You should've told me about this..." I whispered, leaning in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear, the faint scent of her skin—mint, gun oil, a hint of smoke from the grill—cutting through the party smells.

  She let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through her chest into mine. "Yeah... I should have. I'm sorry." She turned her head just enough that her breath ghosted across my cheek. "Do you forgive me?"

  I nodded, the motion small but sure, and pressed a gentle kiss to the smooth curve of her cheekbone.

  Her skin was warm under my lips, faintly salty from the heat of the room. She hummed in quiet approval, tightening her arm around me for a second before loosening it just enough to let me breathe—but not enough to let me pull away.

  Around us the party rolled on: someone cranked the volume on the banda's next song, a couple more men jumped into the dance floor, ughter erupted from a knot of women near the balcony, bottles clinked in toasts. Car reached for the tequi bottle with her free hand, poured a shot, and slid it toward me without asking.

  "Drink," she said simply, eyes sparkling with that mix of mischief and steel I'd come to crave.

  "Tonight we forget tomorrow for a little while. Tomorrow can wait."

  I picked up the gss, the clear liquid catching the light like liquid fire. She watched me with quiet intensity as I tipped it back—the burn sharp and clean down my throat—then set the empty shot down and leaned my head against her shoulder.

  "Fucking hell... that's strong," I coughed, my throat burning as the alcohol hit far harder than I expected.

  The warmth in my chest turned sour almost instantly.

  "I—I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I feel a bit sick." I pushed my chair back carefully, trying not to draw too much attention to how unsteady I suddenly felt.

  "Let me come with you," Car said immediately, already rising from her seat.

  I didn't argue.

  We walked down the hall together, her hand resting lightly at the small of my back. The noise of the gathering faded the further we went, repced by the hum of the mansion's quiet interior.

  We stepped into one of the bathrooms. I half-expected her to wait outside—but she came in with me, shutting and locking the door behind us.

  By the time I reached the toilet, my stomach had already made the decision for me.

  I dropped to my knees and barely managed to lean over before I started throwing up.

  Car was beside me instantly.

  Her hand moved slowly up and down my back, steady and warm, keeping my hair out of my face as I retched again. The alcohol burned on the way up, leaving my eyes watery and my throat raw.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured softly. "I shouldn't have given you that shot."

  I shook my head weakly before another wave forced its way through me.

  "Poor baby..." she cooed gently, brushing a hand through my hair once I caught my breath. "I won't let you drink ever again. I'm such a terrible girlfriend."

  I managed to look up at her, even as my stomach twisted again.

  "No," I said hoarsely. "It's fine... you didn't know."

  Another gag interrupted me, and I bent forward again, gripping the edge of the toilet.

  Through it all, Car didn't move away.

  She stayed right there, unlike Elena who would've been bming me.

  "Are you feeling better?" she asked softly, her hand still resting at my back.

  I shook my head. "No. My stomach still hurts... I think I'm done throwing up, though."

  My legs felt unsteady as I stood. The room swayed just slightly—not enough to knock me over, but enough to remind me I wasn't at my best.

  "I think I'm going back to bed," I muttered, moving to the sink. I turned on the water and washed my hands slowly, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked gssy. Tired.

  "Fuck this party," Car said without hesitation. "I'm staying with my love."

  A small warmth bloomed in my chest despite the nausea. I didn't say anything, but I smiled faintly to myself.

  She really did love me.

  When we stepped back into the hallway, her arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, steady and protective as we made our way down toward the second floor. The music from the party was muffled now, distant and irrelevant.

  Halfway down the corridor, we ran into Le standing watch.

  "Hey, Le," Car said calmly. "If anyone asks, tell them I'm not interested. I have to comfort my love."

  Le gave a short nod, professional as always. "Of course."

  Car didn't slow her pace. She guided me the rest of the way to our room, opened the door, and led me inside. The noise of the party disappeared the second it closed behind us.

  I colpsed onto the bed the second we reached it, barely having the energy to pull the bnket over myself. It was still warm from when I'd gotten up earlier, the sheets slightly tangled from where I'd left them in a rush.

  I curled onto my side, drawing my knees up slightly, letting the mattress swallow me whole.

  A moment ter, Car slipped in beside me.

  She didn't hesitate—just wrapped herself around me, strong arms locking gently but securely in pce. I let my eyes close as I melted into her warmth.

  "Thank you, Car," I murmured sleepily.

  The heat of her body soothed the lingering ache in my stomach, easing it far better than anything else could have. I rested my head comfortably against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing beneath my ear. It was calming. Constant.

  Safe.

  "I'll be here," she whispered, her voice low and tender as her fingers brushed slowly through my hair. "Just rest, my baby boy."

  Her thumb traced zy circles along my back.

  The nausea faded. The tension in my body dissolved.

  And with her holding me like that—like I was something precious—I slipped into sleep almost instantly.

  —