"What the fuck am I gonna do... I can't just leave her here..." I whispered, pacing just outside the room, my hand dragging down my face as I tried to think straight.

"...oh fuck..."

This wasn't part of the plan. None of this was.

I didn't have time to stand there debating it. I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone, my fingers already moving before I could second-guess myself. There was only one person I trusted enough to call right now.

Carla.

The line rang, each second stretching longer in the silence of the apartment.

Then—she picked up.

"...Lela?" Carla's voice came through, low but instantly alert. "Did the mission go well?"

I exhaled quietly, glancing back toward the cracked door at the end of the hallway.

"Boss... we have a situation," I said, keeping my voice controlled. "There's a baby here."

Silence.

"...Explain," she said, sharper now.

"Her name is Isabelle... I—I think it's Miguel's," I said, my voice lower now, the realization still settling in as I stared down the hallway. "I'm not sure, boss... but I don't think I can leave her here. Not alone."

For a split second, there was nothing on the other end.

Then—

"...Fuck," Carla breathed, the word quiet but heavy. I could almost hear her shifting, fully awake now. "Okay... listen to me carefully."

I straightened slightly, my grip on the phone tightening.

"Grab her. Anything she needs—diapers, bottles, whatever's there. Don't waste time, just take what you can carry," she said, her voice firm, controlled, but urgent underneath. "And Lela... get the hell out of that country. Now."

My eyes flicked back toward the room again, my mind already switching gears.

"Understood," I replied without hesitation.

The call ended.

For a second, I just stood there, the silence rushing back in—but it felt different now. Louder. Faster.

Then I moved.

Back down the hallway. Back to the door.

This wasn't the mission anymore.

This was something else entirely.

——

(Miguel pov)

"So what's this all about? You woke me up extra early for this," I said, standing near the entrance of the mansion with my arms loosely at my sides, eyes drifting over the guards as they moved through their routines like clockwork.

Carla stood beside me, calm as ever—but there was something different in the way she carried herself. Subtle, but there.

"You'll see," she said, her tone just vague enough to make me more curious than reassured.

I glanced at her. "...Alright," I replied, dragging the word out slightly, not entirely convinced but not pushing it either.

The morning air was cool, quiet except for the distant sounds of movement around the property. Everything looked normal.

Then the gates opened.

Two trucks rolled in.

My attention snapped forward as I straightened slightly, watching them approach. They moved with purpose, tires crunching against the ground as they made their way toward us. One slowed as it neared, then came to a stop directly in front of where we stood.

I frowned slightly, glancing at Carla again.

"...You wanna tell me now?" I asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into my voice.

She didn't answer.

That alone made something in my chest tighten.

My gaze shifted back to the truck, watching as the engine idled, the moment stretching just long enough to feel intentional.

Something was about to happen.

The truck door opened, and Lela stepped out.

At first, nothing seemed out of place—same posture, same calm presence—but then my eyes dropped slightly and I froze.

She was holding... a baby.

"What?" I let out, the word slipping before I could stop it. My brows pulled together as I stared, trying to make sense of it. "Is that Lela's niece or something?" I added, half-joking, half-genuinely confused.

Lela started walking toward us, her usual composure just slightly off. Not panicked—but definitely not normal. Her grip on the baby was careful, protective, like she'd been holding her for a while now.

The baby was asleep, small and completely unaware, wrapped up and resting against Lela like none of this was strange at all.

My gaze flicked between her and Carla, trying to read something.

"Come on in," Carla said, stepping aside, her voice calm—but there was something underneath it. Something I couldn't quite place.

Lela didn't argue. She moved past us, carrying the sleeping baby inside without hesitation.

I stood there for a second, not moving.

"...Okay, nah," I muttered, shaking my head slightly as I turned to Carla. "You're explaining that. Right now."

Carla nodded, and I followed her into the living room. The air felt different the moment I stepped inside—heavier, quieter, like whatever was about to be said had already changed the mood of the house.

Lela was already seated.

Seeing her there like that was strange enough on its own, but the contrast made it worse—full tactical gear, posture still sharp and disciplined... and a sleeping baby resting in her arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It didn't fit, not in any way I could immediately process. It made the whole room feel slightly unreal.

I sat down beside Carla, watching Lela carefully as I tried to make sense of the situation. Carla stayed composed, but I could tell she was paying close attention too—quiet, observant, waiting.

Something was off in the atmosphere. Not dangerous. Just... unbalanced.

Lela shifted slightly, adjusting the baby in her arms with unexpected gentleness. Then, without warning—

"Do you want to hold her?" she asked, looking directly at me.

I blinked.

"...Me?" I said, a little caught off guard.

My eyebrows lifted slightly as I glanced at the baby, then back at Lela. It was such a simple question, but for some reason it felt heavier than it should have.

Why me?

I hesitated for a second longer, the room silent except for the faint sound of the baby breathing.

But I didn't say no.

Lela carefully handed her over, and I instinctively adjusted my grip as the baby settled into my arms. She was small—lighter than I expected—and completely calm, her soft breathing the only sound filling the room.

I looked down at her for a moment, something in my expression softening without me even noticing.

"She's adorable," I said quietly.

Then I glanced back up, trying to make sense of the situation. "Are you like... babysitting or something, Lela?"

Lela didn't answer immediately. Her eyes shifted, not to me—but to Carla.

That alone made my stomach tighten slightly.

Carla exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding this in since the moment I walked in. "Lela... she has suspicion that..." she started, then paused just long enough for the words to land wrong. "...it's yours and Elena's baby."

For a second, everything in my head went blank.

I looked down at the child again, then back up sharply.

"What?" I said, quieter now. The confusion hit first—fast and disorienting—followed by something heavier I couldn't place immediately.

My grip adjusted instinctively, more careful now without me thinking about it.

"I—I..." I shook my head slightly. "No... I don't know."

My eyes flicked between Carla and Lela, trying to find something that made sense in their expressions, something that explained how this had even become a possibility.

But nothing about the room felt clear anymore.

Then it hit me. All at once, without warning—the way trauma always does.

The memories of that night didn't surface slowly. They crashed back, a wave with no mercy, no patience, pulling me under before I could brace for it. The sounds first. Then the smells. Then every awful, unforgiving detail I had spent weeks trying to bury.

My chest locked up.

"Get her off me—" My voice came out strange. Thin. Not mine. I was already thrusting the child back toward Lela, arms outstretched, desperate to free my hands like that might somehow free the rest of me.

Carla said something. I couldn't hear it.

I stood. The room tilted. My lungs were working—I could feel them heaving, rapid and shallow—but the air wasn't landing anywhere useful. Each breath came faster than the last, a cruel rhythm that fed the panic instead of killing it. 

Sweat broke across my skin in an instant, cold and sudden, soaking the back of my neck, the curve of my palms.

I pressed a hand to the wall.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But my body had stopped listening to reason.

The edges of my vision darkened first—softly, almost gently, like a curtain being drawn—and then the darkness rushed in from every direction at once.

My legs gave.

And everything went black.

——