“Okay, okay. I’ll lay off. But I’m going on record as saying it’s a good idea.”
“Noted. Just keep your ears peeled for any availability, okay?”
“I can do that.”
The conversation wandered from there—her research backlog, Priya’s insistence on reclaiming a semblance of normal, the logistics of her parents’ looming departure. She was a little softer than usual, a little less brisk; every so often, I caught her checking her phone, eyes flicking to the door. We were both waiting for things we couldn’t name.
The bakery slowly emptied around us. A couple with a stroller lingered at the window. Someone came in for a box of pan dulce, left with a nod to Astrid. The staff started clearing tables, moving with the methodical energy of people counting down minutes to shift change.
Astrid sighed, checked her phone, and pushed her chair back. “I need to get going. We’re so behind on things. But let’s catch up again soon, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
She squeezed my shoulder as we stood. “Soon. I mean it.”
We hugged tight, and she left a warmth in her wake that I hadn’t realized I’d needed. I watched her head out to the parking lot.
As Rios wasn’t back yet—surprise, surprise—I ordered a fresh cup of coffee and settled in with my book to wait.
The quiet felt sharp now. My phone was a heavy weight in my pocket, but I resisted the urge to pull it out to check my email for the twentieth time or slip into doomscrolling. It wasn’t as if I was expecting anything in particular. I hadn’t provided real contact information, so even if the State Bureau of Investigation would contact me back to acknowledge receipt, they couldn’t. And I didn’t have any job applications out. Something I’d have to start thinking about soon.
I had savings enough to get me by for a while, but my father wasn’t wrong that I couldn’t exist without a plan forever.
When my phone buzzed, I flinched.
Slipping it out, I found a text from Astrid.
Astrid:
FML. Got into a crash over on Seacrest. Some idiot tourist missed the one-way sign.
A thin strand of fear wound through me. Astrid didn’t overreact to minor things.
Me:
Are you okay??
Astrid:
Ish? Police already called, but can you come?
I hesitated. I thought of Rios—his warning, the promise I’d made. I thought of Astrid, pale and shaking and only two blocks away. I weighed loyalty against caution and knew which would always win.
Me:
I’m on my way.
I fired off a quick text to Rios?—
Astrid was in an accident on Seacrest. I’m heading over to check on her
—grabbed my bag and headed for the back door, short-cutting through the narrow alley behind the bakery that would get me there faster than the main street.
The sidewalk was nearly empty now, a few locals chatting by a delivery truck, the clatter of a dropped tray echoing from a nearby café. It was a sign of the true end of the summer season that the space wasn’t choked with tourists. My shoes tapped against the pavement as I cut between buildings, heart pounding faster than the walk warranted.
I was already scanning the street ahead, looking for police lights, a cluster of people, Astrid’s familiar car.
A hand clamped down on my arm from behind, so sudden and violent I barely got a breath. I dropped the coffee and twisted, trying to jerk away, but he was too strong. Another quick jerk and a second arm snaked around my throat, cutting off any sound but a desperate, animal whimper as he dragged me backward, feet scrambling for purchase on the uneven concrete.
