“You gave me guilt.”
“You killed your brother.”
Her face twists.
For a second, you see the girl she once was.
Then she disappears.
“He was going to ruin me,” Lucía snaps. “He found bank transfers. He was going to tell you I borrowed money. Borrowed. From my own family.”
“You stole from us,” you say.
She glares at you.
“I was owed.”
There it is.
The rot at the center.
Not need.
Not desperation.
Entitlement.
Esteban finally speaks.
“Lucía, enough.”
She turns on him. “No. They need to understand.”
He looks nervous now.
Good.
Maybe he did not know everything.
Or maybe he knew enough and is finally realizing murder sounds different when spoken in daylight.
Lucía points toward Arturo.
“He saw. He saw Diego fall. And he still chose me.”
Arturo’s tears spill silently.
“I chose wrong.”
Her face changes.
“What?”
He lifts his head.
“I chose wrong. I thought hiding the truth would save you. It didn’t. It made you worse.”
Lucía stares at him.
The wind rises.
Your phone buzzes once.
Fifteen-minute check-in.
You do not move.
Lucía hears it.
Her eyes drop to your pocket.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
She steps forward.
You step back.
Too close to the edge now.
Arturo sees it.
“Elena.”
Lucía’s hand shoots out and grabs your coat.
Everything happens at once.
Arturo lunges.
