Santiago sat on the edge of his hotel bed, staring at the cracked phone screen in his trembling hands. The folder from Silas lay open on the floor, pages scattered like accusations.
His eyes were bloodshot, face gaunt, skin pale and drawn tight over his bones. He looked like a man who had aged ten years in a single night — a dried-up husk, a walking corpse haunted by the worst mistake of his life.
Leon.
The innocent soul who had trusted him with his fears and dreams. The lover he had spent years searching for across continents, sacrificing everything just for a chance to find him again.
And he had helped them kidnap him.
Santiago's shoulders shook as another wave of guilt crashed over him. His chest felt like it was being crushed. He rocked slightly, whispering brokenly to the empty room.
