Page 59 of The Sentinel

Marcus’s hand landed on my shoulder, warm and solid.

Ryker had been right. Coming here was a mistake.But I reached for the phone anyway, my fingers shaking slightly.

I wasn’t ready for this. But I didn’t have a choice.

I lifted the receiver with unsteady fingers, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”

A sharp inhale crackled through the line, followed by a woman’s voice—soft, desperate. “Clara? Mija, gracias a Dios.”

María Gil.Diego’s mother.

Her relief hit me like a punch to the gut. My throat tightened as I gripped the phone harder, trying to keep my voice steady. “Señora Gil, I?—”

“Where is Diego?” she cut in, her voice trembling. “He hasn’t answered all day. Not his phone, not his texts. We’ve been calling you too, but—” Her voice broke. “He always calls or texts us back, always.”

Guilt twisted sharp inside me. My own phone was still buried in my bag, silenced beneath hours of grief and chaos. I hadn’t seen their calls, hadn’t even thought to check.

Beside me, Marcus shifted, his presence grounding, his eyes locked on me, unreadable.

Señor Gil’s voice rumbled faintly in the background—lower, steadier, but laced with the same strain. “His phone …” he said in halting English, his accent thicker with emotion. “The locator … it was last here. At the hotel.”

My stomach dropped.

They knew. Not everything, not yet. But they felt it. The same way I had before Ryker’s call shattered my world.

I forced myself to speak, to breathe. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Yesterday,” María whispered. “After the gala. Hesent a message saying he got back to the hotel safe. That he’d call today.” A shaky breath. “But he never did.”

Her words blurred in my mind, tangling with the image on the screen—Diego, shoulders tense, waiting for the elevator, sensing something was wrong.

They didn’t know.

They hadn’t heard from the police yet. Hadn’t gotten the call that would change their lives forever.

Marcus stepped in closer, his hand still firm on my shoulder, like he knew exactly what was coming next.

BecauseIhad to say it.

I had to be the one to shatter them.

I swallowed hard. “Señora Gil, listen to me.” My voice wavered, and I hated it. “Have the police contacted you yet?”

A pause. Then, softer, wary: “No.”

My heart clenched painfully.

They don’t know. They don’t know. They don’t?—

“Clara,” María whispered, voice barely audible. “Is my son okay?”

The grief I’d been holding back all day surged up my throat, sharp and unforgiving.

I turned my head slightly, my temple brushing against Marcus’s chest, just for a second, just to ground myself. His grip tightened in silent understanding.

And then, voice breaking, I whispered the words I never should have had to say.

“I’m so sorry.”

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