The night was silent, but Lila couldn’t sleep. The steady ticking of the old wall clock in her room seemed to grow louder with every passing second, as if amplifying her restless thoughts. She lay awake in bed, the blanket loosely draped over her, while the moonlight filtered through the half-open shutters.
Rafael. His name burned in her mind like fire. His piercing gaze, the way his words struck a chord deep within her, as though they uncovered truths she hadn’t yet understood—all of it left her unsettled.
She got up, quickly threw a light scarf over her shoulders, and opened the door to her room. The night air was cool, heavy with the scent of the sea breeze.
***
Outside, the air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of salt and damp stone. The marketplace, bustling with life during the day, now seemed deserted; only a few scattered lanterns cast a warm, golden light over the narrow streets. Lila wandered aimlessly through the lanes until a small sign caught her attention: Antiques and Collectibles.
Curious, she stepped closer. Inside the shop, a single lamp burned, illuminating a table filled with old books, papers, and crumpled envelopes. The door was slightly ajar, as if the shop were still waiting for one last visitor.
“Come in, child,” a raspy voice called from the shadows.
Lila hesitated but then stepped inside. Behind the table sat an older woman with thick, gray hair and sharp, curious eyes. Her hands, marked by age, moved deftly over the papers, as though she knew every item intimately.
“Looking for something special?” the woman asked without looking up.
“I… I’m not sure,” Lila murmured. Her eyes roamed over the items until they landed on an old envelope. It was faded, with frayed edges, but the address was still legible: Pensión Sol, Habitación 3, Cartagena.
Her heart skipped a beat. That was her room.
“May I see that?” Lila asked, pointing to the envelope.
The woman looked up and studied her carefully before nodding. “You can have it,” she finally said. “It belongs to you.”
“To me?” Lila repeated, confused.
“Sometimes the things we need most find their way to us,” the woman murmured, sliding the envelope toward her. “Be careful, niña. Not every truth brings peace.”
***
Back in her room, Lila sat on the bed with the letter resting on her lap. The woman’s words echoed in her mind, but she chose to ignore them. Carefully, she opened the envelope, the paper inside feeling strangely heavy, as if it carried more meaning than she could anticipate.
The contents consisted of a single page, written in faded ink. The words on it sent a chill down her spine:
“If you’re reading this, I may no longer be here. But this place holds answers you must find. Trust no one. Not even yourself.”
A knock at the door made her jump. The letter slipped from her hands and landed softly on the floor. She got up quickly, her heart racing, as she walked to the door.
When she opened it, it felt as though the air in the room had suddenly thickened. Rafael stood there, his dark eyes glinting in the dim hallway light. His face was tense, yet he carried an unsettling calm about him that both reassured and unnerved her.
“You found something,” he said softly, his voice like a rough whisper.
“How do you know?” Lila asked, her voice trembling.
Rafael stepped closer, his gaze sweeping the room behind her until it landed on the letter lying on the floor. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up, and Lila couldn’t help but watch him—the fluidity of his movements, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers handled the letter with reverence.
“This is her handwriting,” he whispered as he stood up again.
“Her?” Lila asked, her voice barely audible.
“My sister,” Rafael said quietly. His eyes softened, filled with pain and longing.
