Chapter 4 - Secrets in the LockerThe words hung in the air like poison gas.
Clara is dead.
Ramiro felt the strength drain entirely from his arms. The man in his grip was laughing—a high, manic sound that bounced off the metal walls of the garage.
Inside the locker, the girl heard it all. Through the narrow gap between the metal doors, hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She didn't scream, but her small frame shook with violent, silent sobs. Her mother was gone. The only reason she had survived this long was because Clara had hidden her in a secret compartment behind the pantry just before the men in black suits broke into their safehouse.
Ramiro slowly let go of Julian’s collar. The mechanic’s eyes were completely hollow, devoid of the fierce anger that had driven him seconds before.
Ten years of waiting. Ten years of hoping against hope that one day, the door of his garage would open and Clara would walk back in with that sad, beautiful smile.
All for nothing. She had been murdered by the very monsters she tried to escape.
Julian coughed, testing the tightness of the chains around his chest. “Smart move, mechanic. Now, be a good little worker and hand over the girl. You can't protect her. You couldn't protect Clara then, and you sure as hell can't protect her daughter now.”
Ramiro slowly stood up. He walked over to the workbench, picked up his wrench, and stared at his reflection in the dark, oily surface of a transmission pan. He looked old. Tired. Broken.
Then, he heard a soft, trembling sniffle coming from the locker.
The mechanical clinking of the rain outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the memory of the girl’s small hand grabbing his fingers, begging him: “Don't let him take me.”
Ramiro’s eyes hardened. The grief inside him didn't vanish—it transmuted into something cold, heavy, and lethal.
He walked over to the metal locker and slowly pulled the door open.
The little girl shrank back into the corner, clutching a torn teddy bear against her chest, her amber eyes wide with absolute terror.
“Get out,” Ramiro said softly, his voice barely audible over the storm.
“Are... are you going to give me to him?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Ramiro crouched down until he was at eye level with her. He reached out with a grease-stained hand and gently wiped a streak of dirt and tears from her cheek.
“No,” Ramiro said, his voice steadying with absolute, unyielding resolve. “My name is Ramiro. And I made a promise to your mother a long time ago, even if she never heard it. I'm not letting anyone hurt you. What's your name?”
May you like
“Maya,” she whispered.
“Maya,” Ramiro repeated, tasting the name like a sacred vow. “Listen to me carefully, Maya. We are going to finish what your mother started.”
