The heavy, broken sobbing of a four-year-old boy finally echoed into silence, replaced only by the rhythmic, shallow gasps of a child utterly exhausted by his own grief. Valeria remained kneeling on the cold marble floor for over twenty minutes, her knees aching, her bruised ribs throbbing beneath her oversized uniform, yet she refused to move an inch. She simply rested her chin against Mateo’s soft, unwashed black hair, her hand gently tracing circles along his small, tense spine.

Blood trickled down Alejandro’s forehead, mixing with his sweat, but his movements were terrifyingly fluid and precise. In less than three seconds, he disarmed the first mercenary with a brutal elbow strike to the throat, turning the man's own weapon against the second guard before slamming him into the mahogany bookshelf.

Scorpion spun around, drawing a combat knife and lunging at Alejandro with feral speed.

The two men crashed to the floor, rolling over shattered glass and heavy medical textbooks. Scorpion managed to pin Alejandro for a split second, raising the knife to strike.

Bang.

A single shot echoed through the room.

Scorpion froze, his eyes widening in shock as the knife slipped from his fingers. He collapsed heavily to the floor, motionless.

Alejandro pushed the body off himself, gasping for breath, and immediately looked up. Standing near the door, holding a smoking 9mm pistol with both hands, was Valeria. Her hands were shaking violently, but her aim had been true.

Alejandro scrambled across the floor, ignoring his own injuries, and pulled both Valeria and Mateo into his arms in a desperate, fiercely protective embrace.