Page 60 of The Sentinel

María made a small, strangled sound—half gasp, half sob—before the words even sank in.

“No,” she whispered. Then louder, desperate, her voice cracking like splintered glass. “No, Clara, no me digas eso.”

Don’t tell me that.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The grief in her voice was unbearable, a mother’s world tilting off its axis.

In the background, I heard Señor Gil’s voice—lower, steadier, but no less broken. “Qué pasó?”

What happened?

How was I supposed to answer that?

I gripped the phone tighter. “We—we don’t know everything yet,” I managed, my voice barely holding. “The police?—”

“What happened to my son?” María’s voice rose, high and trembling, each syllable edged in agony. “Dime la verdad, Clara!”

The truth.

But what was the truth? That I didn’t know how Diego had ended up face-down in a pool? That I didn’t know why someone had targeted him? That all I had were grainy security images, a feeling in my gut, and an anger so sharp it could cut through bone?

My breath hitched.

Marcus moved closer, so close his chest pressed against my back, his warmth a barrier against the ice creeping into my veins. His hand skimmed down my arm before settling over mine, steadying, grounding.

I swallowed hard. “They found him at the hotel,” I said finally, my voice hollow. “In the pool.”

A sharp inhale from María. “En la piscina?”

“I don’t believe it was an accident.” The words came out low, firm. “I think someone did this.”

Señor Gil cursed under his breath, but María made another choked sound, and the devastation in it shattered something inside me.

“Mi niño …” she sobbed, the words slipping into frantic Spanish, too fast for me to catch everything. But I didn’t need a translation.

She had just lost her son.

A son who was supposed to be safe.

A son who had promised to call.

“María,” I said, barely holding myself together. “I—I don’t have answers yet, but I swear to you, I’m going to find out who did this.”

Silence.

Then a broken, fragile whisper. “Dónde está?”

Where is he?

My throat burned.

“The police have him now,” I forced out. “They’ll—” My voice faltered. “They’ll be calling you soon.”

Marcus’s grip on my hand tightened.

María made a sound that wasn’t quite human—something ripped straight from a mother’s soul—and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from breaking.

I should have been stronger.

---