He removed his sunglasses.

María’s breath hitched.

He looked young, maybe early thirties. Not wild. Not erratic. His exhausted eyes almost made him seem… lost.

But predators didn’t always look like monsters.
And fear didn’t listen to reason.

Then Lucía did the unthinkable:

She held out her hand.

María’s blood turned to ice.

The Stranger’s Pocket
The man stared at Lucía’s hand. His jaw tightened. Then — slowly, deliberately — he slid his hand into the pocket of his black jacket.