Tijuana, México
THE HOUSE STILL SLEPT BEHIND us, heavy and still, its white walls catching the first faint blush of dawn. I pressed my finger to my lips, and Rafael nodded, his small hand gripping mine as if we were already conspirators. The air outside was cool, damp with the scent of salt and the faint hum of the sea below.
“Do you think Mamá will notice?” he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement more than fear.
“Not if we’re quiet,” I said, tugging him forward, barefoot across the tiled terrace. “By the time she wakes up, we’ll already be back.”
The cliffside grass was dry and brittle underfoot, brushing against our ankles as we hurried down the slope. Every step snapped twigs, made tiny crackling noises that felt like thunder to me. Rafael laughed each time he slipped, catching himself with both hands, his knees smudged with dust.
“Careful, Rafe,” I warned, though I couldn’t help but grin.
“You’re going too fast!” he puffed, but he never let go of my hand.
The mansion receded behind us, swallowed by the ridge, and soon it was just the two of us with the sky stretching open, streaked with pale pink and gold. Ahead, the cliff dipped into a gentler path, the kind locals used, winding down to the beach. The sea roared louder, promising.
When our feet finally hit sand, Rafael let out a triumphant cheer. “We made it!”
The sand was cool and damp, patterned with the night’s tide. The water caught the early sun and shattered it into silver shards. I pulled my shirt over my head, tossed it down, and Rafael did the same, stumbling with his sleeves until I helped him.
“Race you!” he shouted before I could answer, bolting toward the waves.
I chased after him, the wind sharp in my chest, the world opening wide with each stride. When we hit the surf, the cold was a shock – Rafael yelped, then laughed so hard he nearly fell over.
“It’s freezing!” he gasped, splashing me.
“You wanted this!” I splashed him back, and soon we were both soaked, darting through the foam, shouting nonsense into the morning.
We swam until our limbs ached, floated on our backs and let the water rock us like small boats. Above us, the gulls cut across the sky, their wings gilded by sunrise. Little Rafe’s hair clung to his forehead, and his grin was so wide it seemed to split the day open.
“Teo,” he said suddenly, quiet in the lull between waves. “This is the best morning ever.”
I looked at him, at his small frame against the horizon, and felt something sharp and bright in my chest.
And for a while, there was no mansion, no rules, no sleeping parents – only the sea carrying our laughter farther than we could see.
The sun was higher when we finally dragged ourselves from the water, skin salted, hair plastered to our foreheads. My chest still ached from laughing too much, but the light had shifted – the pink and gold of dawn burned away into a harsher, blinding white.
“We should go back,” I told Rafe as we wrung the seawater from our shorts. “Before Mamá and Papá come looking.”
He groaned, half-burying his toes in the sand. “Do we have to?”
“Yes,” I said, firmer than I meant to. Something pressed at the edges of me, like a note played too low to hear, vibrating through the air. I didn’t know why, but I suddenly wanted him close, wanted us moving. “Come on. Hurry.”
We retraced our steps across the packed sand, toward the slope where the cliffs began their climb. The dry grass hissed underfoot in the faint breeze, its brittle stalks scratching our shins. Rafael trailed behind, slower now, dragging his feet.
“My feet hurt,” he muttered, his voice small.
I stopped, turning to him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips pursed like he was trying not to complain more. Without thinking, I crouched down. “Climb on. I’ll carry you.”
His eyes lit up, and he scrambled onto my back, his thin arms looped tight around my neck. “You’re gonna regret this,” he teased, though I could hear the weariness in him.
“Not if you hold on,” I said, adjusting his weight. His knees dug into my sides as I started the climb, step after careful step.
The air grew hotter as we climbed, the sun spilling fire on the rocks, baking the earth beneath us. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck where Rafe’s chin rested, his eyes closed with exhaustion. My legs burned, but I kept moving, jaw tight, that uneasy hum inside me growing louder.
When we reached the ridge, I finally looked up toward the estate, expecting to see the white walls gleaming in the sun.
Instead, I saw smoke.
