Alejandro stared at you.
For the first time, he looked at you not as furniture, not as staff, not as someone carrying towels.
As a person.
“You helped her?”
“Yes.”
“And you think you can help me?”
“I think you can help yourself,” you said. “I can just make sure you don’t fall alone.”
That sentence did something to him.
His face did not soften exactly. It cracked. Just a little. Enough for you to see the boy beneath the anger, the young man who had been buried alive under pity, money, and silence.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he whispered.
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