The streets were quiet, well, except for the occasional chatter of neighbors sweeping their front yards or watching their stalls. Julia walked beside Emily, her eyes searching every corner, every familiar face.
They'd been at this for weeks now—asking, listening, hoping. Hoping that someone, anyone, might know where Hueco had gone.
...If he was still alive, that is.
"Excuse me," Emily said softly to a woman arranging vegetables at her stand. "Do you… remember Hueco?"
The woman's face lit up immediately. "Hueco? That boy was a blessing. Always helping, always smiling. When my husband collapsed last year, he was the one who carried him to the clinic. If not for him, I don't know what would've happened."
Julia bowed her head, her chest tightening.
They moved on.
An old man sitting by the roadside raised his hand when he overheard Hueco's name. "Ah, heard y'all talking about boy wonder. He fixed my roof once when the storm tore it apart. Didn't ask for anything, just laughed and said it was nothing. That boy… he was too kind."
Julia's lips trembled. She wanted to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
Emily scribbled notes, her expression calm but her eyes heavy. She knew Julia was listening to every word, storing them deep inside her heart.
Children ran past them, shouting Hueco's name like it was a chant. "Hueco! Hueco! He saved my kite!" one of them yelled, laughing.
Julia stopped walking. She closed her eyes, letting the voices wash over her. Each story was a reminder, each praise a wound that refused to heal.
"I think it's time we head back, Julia." Emily whispered. "People loved him... But even they don't know where he is now."
Julia nodded faintly, though her fists were already tightening at her sides.
They turned the corner, and that was when they saw him.
A man leaning against the rusted fence of the basketball court. He was tall—though not like Hueco, who actually was, six-foot-six feet tall. This man was only a little shorter, but his presence was sharp, cutting, like a shadow that refused to blend in. His shoulders were broad, his posture relaxed, yet there was something in his eyes that unsettled the air around him, they were sharp, cold. He watched them approach, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Hero…?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Julia froze. Emily glanced at him, confused.
"You're calling that mutt a hero?" the man continued, pushing off the fence. His tone was mocking, cruel. "Didn't know they celebrated snitches."
...
....
...
The air shifted. The laughter of children died down. The vendors turned away.
Julia's heart pounded. Her nails dug deeper into her palm, a thin line of red crept and dripped from her hand — slow, deliberate, refusing to be ignored, trembling with... rage.
Emily's breath caught, her pen slipping from her fingers.
And there, in the silence of the street, Julia's fury burned brighter than ever.
" ...Tell me what it feels like to be a mutt when I bash your face in. "
The street froze.
No one spoke.
Only Julia's trembling fist,
...and the weight of her words.