Barcelona
Aaliyah
The moment Aaliyah stepped off the boat and into the crowded streets of Barcelona, the noise hit her like a wave. The cacophony of voices, the hum of traffic, and the occasional clatter of shoes on cobblestone swirled together in a dizzying symphony. She tightened her grip on the metal case she carried, her eyes darting nervously across the throngs of people.
The sheer volume of humanity made her stomach twist. Faces blurred into one another, every expression unreadable, every movement too quick to track. She couldn’t help but search for danger in every shadow, every unfamiliar gesture. Was that man standing by the newspaper kiosk watching them for too long? Was the woman on her phone following them, or was it just her imagination?
Her chest tightened as the questions piled up, a familiar knot of anxiety building beneath her ribs. She stuck close to Cruz, whose calm and purposeful stride cut through the chaos like a blade. Cruz didn’t flinch at the noise or the crush of bodies; she moved with the same quiet confidence she always did, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd with precision.
Aaliyah envied that calm. Her own nerves were frayed, her thoughts spiraling as she imagined her father’s men lurking just beyond her line of sight.
“Stay close,” Cruz had said, and Aaliyah clung to those words like a lifeline.
As they weaved through the crowded streets, Aaliyah’s gaze kept darting back to Cruz, her dark hair a beacon in the sea of strangers. She could feel the weight of her fear pressing down on her, the sense that if she lost sight of Cruz, everything would fall apart.
Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed Cruz’s hand.
The touch was instinctive, a reaction to the overwhelming press of the crowd, but the moment her fingers closed around Cruz’s, Aaliyah’s pulse quickened. Cruz glanced down at their joined hands, her expression flickering briefly with surprise before settling into something unreadable.
Aaliyah’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t let go. “I—sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely audible over the din of the street. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Cruz didn’t say anything, but her grip shifted slightly, her fingers curling around Aaliyah’s in a way that felt reassuring, protective. “You won’t,” Cruz said simply, her voice steady and low, cutting through the chaos like a balm.
They walked like that through the bustling streets, Cruz’s hand a tether that kept Aaliyah grounded. The city unfolded around them in a blur of colors and sounds—cobblestone alleyways giving way to grand plazas, street vendors hawking everything from handmade jewelry to fresh bombas. Aaliyah’s anxiety ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of the crowd, but Cruz’s presence kept her from being completely swallowed by it.
After what felt like an eternity, Cruz led her down a quieter side street, the noise of the main thoroughfare fading into the background. They stopped in front of an unassuming building with wrought-iron balconies and ivy creeping up its façade. Cruz produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the door, motioning for Aaliyah to follow her inside.
The stairwell smelled faintly of cleaning solution and old wood, and the narrow steps creaked as they ascended. Aaliyah’s legs ached from the walk through the city, but she kept close to Cruz, her heart pounding with every step.
Finally, they reached the door to a small flat. Cruz unlocked it and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. The space was modest but clean, with a few personal touches that felt distinctly Cruz—practical, minimal, but thoughtful. A single window on the far wall opened onto a small balcony, and through it, Aaliyah could see the bustling expanse of Plaça de Catalunya below, its fountains and tree-lined paths glowing in the soft light of early evening.
Aaliyah moved toward the window, setting down the case as she stared out at the view. The plaza was alive with people, its energy almost hypnotic. For a moment, she forgot about the danger, the running, and just let herself take it in.
“This is… beautiful,” she murmured.
Cruz leaned against the doorway, watching her with an unreadable expression. “It’s functional,” she said. “Central enough to move quickly if we need to, but not so obvious that anyone would look for us here.”
Aaliyah turned, her gaze lingering on Cruz. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
Cruz shrugged, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I try.”
Aaliyah’s eyes drifted around the room, taking in the sparse furniture—a couch, a small table, dresser, and a single bed tucked into the corner. Her cheeks flushed as she realized what that meant.
“There’s only one bed,” she said, her voice hitching slightly.
Cruz followed her gaze, her expression not shifting an inch. “You can take it,” she said simply. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Aaliyah frowned, glancing between the bed and the couch. “You’re the one who’s been keeping us alive. You should take it.”
Behind her, Cruz dropped her bag onto the couch with a soft thud. The tension in the air was palpable, the silence stretching as Aaliyah tried to think of something to say. Before she could, Cruz moved toward the door.
“I’m going out to get food,” Cruz said, her tone brisk. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone.”
Aaliyah turned, startled by the sudden announcement. “Do you think it’s safe?”
Cruz paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Safer than leaving you hungry,” she said simply. “Lock the door behind me.”
Before Aaliyah could respond, Cruz was gone. The door clicked shut, and the faint sound of her footsteps faded down the stairwell. Aaliyah moved to the door and slid the lock into place, her heart racing despite the calm way Cruz had spoken. She stared at the lock for a moment, the reality of being left alone sinking in.
Her gaze drifted back to the room, her eyes landing on the single bed in the corner and the couch where Cruz had dropped her things. The flat felt too quiet without Cruz’s steady presence, and the nerves that had begun to ease on the boat crept back into her chest.
Aaliyah shook her head, trying to push the anxiety away. She’ll be back soon, she told herself. Cruz hadn’t given her any reason to doubt that.
Aaliyah busied herself putting her few belongings from the case and her go-bag into the dresser, nervously glancing at the front door every few minutes willing Cruz to walk through.
When Cruz returned about half an hour later, the smell of warm food filled the air, cutting through the quiet like a welcome balm. She carried a brown paper bag and a faintly damp umbrella, her dark hair slightly tousled from the wind outside.
“Hope you like empanadas,” Cruz said, setting the bag on the small table near the window. She tossed the umbrella into the corner and motioned for Aaliyah to sit. “It’s what they had.”
Aaliyah moved to the table, sliding into one of the chairs as Cruz unpacked the food. The empanadas were golden and crisp, their savory aroma making Aaliyah’s stomach growl. Cruz sat across from her, her movements efficient and deliberate as she handed one over.
“Thanks,” Aaliyah said softly, unwrapping the paper around her empanada. She took a bite, the warm, flaky crust and seasoned filling melting on her tongue. It was the first proper meal she’d had in days, and it made her realize just how hungry she was.
Cruz ate in silence, her posture straight, her eyes flicking occasionally to the window as though she were still scanning for threats. Aaliyah watched her for a moment, the quiet between them stretching uncomfortably. She wanted to say something, to break through the wall Cruz had built around herself, but she didn’t know where to start.
“So,” Aaliyah began hesitantly, setting her empanada down. “Is this your flat, or…?”
Cruz glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “It’s mine,” she said after a pause. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
Cruz took another bite, chewing slowly before answering. “I’ve got a few places like this. Temporary stops. They’re not really mine, but I use them when I need to.”
Aaliyah nodded, filing the information away. She hesitated before asking her next question. “Do you live anywhere full-time?”
Cruz’s jaw tightened slightly, her gaze dropping to the table. “No.”
The single word carried more weight than Aaliyah had expected, and it made her chest tighten. She could sense there was more behind the answer, but Cruz wasn’t going to elaborate. Not without a fight.
“Is that by choice?” Aaliyah pressed gently.
Cruz’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s call it a necessity.”
Aaliyah frowned, her curiosity outweighing her hesitation. “You don’t let anyone in, do you?”
The question lingered in the air, and for a moment, Aaliyah thought Cruz might not answer. But then Cruz set her empanada down, leaning back slightly in her chair.
“Letting people in gives them power,” Cruz said quietly, her voice steady but carrying an edge of something raw. “And power gets used against you.”
The words sent a chill through Aaliyah’s chest. She wanted to ask more, to understand what Cruz had been through to make her believe that, but the hardness in Cruz’s eyes told her to back off. For now.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Aaliyah said softly.
“I know,” Cruz replied, her tone softening just enough to surprise Aaliyah. “But it’s not about you.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the noise of the city outside. Aaliyah stared at her empanada, her appetite fading slightly as she thought about what Cruz had said. There was so much she didn’t know about the woman sitting across from her—so much she wanted to know—but she wasn’t sure how to break through the walls Cruz had built.
“Thank you,” Aaliyah said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cruz raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For continuing to help me,” Aaliyah said, meeting her gaze. “For going out of your way when you didn’t have to.”
Cruz looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said finally. “Just eat.”
Aaliyah nodded, picking up her empanada again and taking a small bite. The rest of the meal passed in silence, but it wasn’t as stifling as before. Cruz didn’t say much, but her presence felt steady, grounding, in a way that made Aaliyah’s chest ache.
When they finished, Cruz cleared the table with the same quiet efficiency she did everything else. Aaliyah watched her, the questions she hadn’t asked still circling in her mind.
The night stretched ahead of them, the small flat feeling both too close and oddly comforting. Aaliyah didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she was grateful for the quiet, for the food, for the woman who had pulled her out of the life she’d been desperate to escape.
Cruz
The docks of Barcelona were chaos. People moved in every direction, voices overlapping in a constant hum that grated against Cruz’s nerves. She scanned the crowd instinctively, her sharp eyes cataloging every detail—every face, every gesture, every potential threat. The air was thick with the smells of salt and street food, and the crush of bodies felt stifling after the wide-open expanse of the sea.
She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, glancing back to make sure Aaliyah was keeping up. The girl’s eyes darted around the crowd, her movements stiff and hesitant. Cruz could see the anxiety etched into her features, the way her fingers clutched the case with their new IDs like it was her only anchor.
Stay calm, Cruz told herself. Keep moving.
They wove through the crowd, Cruz setting a brisk pace that she knew Aaliyah would struggle to match. It wasn’t intentional, but the noise and movement made her restless, her instincts urging her to get to the flat as quickly as possible. The city was alive in ways that felt overwhelming, every corner a potential risk. She didn’t want to linger here longer than necessary.
As they passed a particularly dense section of the plaza, Cruz felt a sudden, unexpected pressure on her hand. She glanced down and saw Aaliyah’s fingers wrapped around hers, small and warm, clinging tightly as if she might disappear into the crowd.
Her first instinct was to pull away, to reestablish the distance that had kept them both safe—physically and emotionally. But she didn’t. Something about the way Aaliyah held on, the quiet desperation in the gesture, made Cruz pause.
“I—sorry,” Aaliyah stammered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Cruz’s chest tightened, the fluttering sensation catching her off guard. It was unfamiliar, disarming in a way that made her stomach twist. She shifted her grip slightly, her fingers curling around Aaliyah’s in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.
“You won’t,” Cruz said simply, her voice steady despite the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface.
The rest of the walk passed in a haze. Cruz kept her focus on navigating the streets, but her thoughts were a mess of contradictions. She told herself the hand-holding was nothing, a practical move in a chaotic situation. But the warmth of Aaliyah’s touch lingered, a quiet reminder that there were parts of her she’d spent years burying.
They arrived at the flat not long after, the familiar sight of the ivy-covered building bringing a measure of relief. Cruz led the way inside, her movements brisk as she climbed the creaky stairs and unlocked the door. The space was as she’d left it—simple, functional, and nondescript. A safe haven, if only for a little while.
“This is… beautiful,” Aaliyah said softly, her gaze fixed on the view from the window.
Cruz glanced at her, noting the way the city lights reflected in her green eyes. “It’s functional,” Cruz replied, her voice neutral. “Central enough to move quickly if we need to, but not so obvious that anyone would look for us here.”
She didn’t linger on the conversation. The flutter in her chest from earlier hadn’t subsided, and she needed space—needed to clear her head.
“I’m going out to get food,” Cruz said abruptly, moving toward the door. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone.”
Aaliyah turned, her expression uncertain. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“Safer than leaving you hungry,” Cruz said, her tone sharper than she intended. “Lock the door behind me.”
Before Aaliyah could ask anything else, Cruz slipped out into the hallway. The stairwell felt quieter than it should have, the echoes of her footsteps too loud in the confined space. She exhaled as she reached the street, the cool evening air brushing against her face like a balm.
What the hell was that back there?
She clenched her jaw, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she walked. The streets were quieter now, the main thoroughfare buzzing with life while the side alleys she preferred stayed mostly empty. Cruz had spent years learning how to suppress distractions, to compartmentalize anything that threatened her focus. But Aaliyah’s hand in hers had cracked something open, and it scared her more than she wanted to admit.
It wasn’t just the touch. It was everything—Aaliyah’s questions, her searching eyes, the way she looked at Cruz like she might actually want to understand her. That kind of vulnerability, that kind of trust, was dangerous. Cruz had learned that the hard way.
By the time she found a small food stall selling empanadas, Cruz had shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind. She bought a bagful, exchanging curt pleasantries with the vendor before heading back toward the flat. The streets felt darker now, the glow of the city lights muted by distance. She kept her eyes sharp, her footsteps quiet, until she was back inside and locking the flat’s door behind her.
“Hope you like empanadas,” Cruz said, setting the bag on the small table. She tossed her umbrella into the corner, glancing at Aaliyah as she took a seat. “It’s what they had.”
Aaliyah nodded, sliding into the chair opposite Cruz. She unwrapped one of the empanadas carefully, her movements delicate, like she was afraid it might fall apart. Cruz watched her for a moment before taking her own, the warm pastry comforting in its simplicity.
The meal was quiet at first, the only sound the faint rustle of paper and the muted hum of the city outside. But Aaliyah wasn’t one for silence, and Cruz could see the question forming before the girl even opened her mouth.
“Is this your flat?” Aaliyah asked, her voice tentative.
“Sort of,” Cruz replied, keeping her tone casual. “I’ve got a few places like this. Temporary stops.”
“Do you live anywhere full-time?” Aaliyah pressed.
Cruz hesitated, her jaw tightening. “No.”
“By choice?”
Cruz met her gaze, her lips twitching into a faint, humorless smile. “Let’s call it a necessity.”
She could see the curiosity in Aaliyah’s eyes, the way the girl seemed to want to peel back the layers Cruz had spent years constructing. But Cruz wasn’t ready—not for this, not for her. Letting someone in meant giving them the power to hurt you, and Cruz had learned to live without that risk.
Aaliyah thanked her again softly, breaking the silence.
Cruz glanced at her, something in the sincerity of the words catching her off guard. She nodded once, brushing off the gratitude as she stood to clear the table.
“Get some rest,” Cruz said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Tomorrow’s another long day.”
After their quiet dinner of empanadas, Cruz waited until Aaliyah retreated toward the bed to begin her nightly ritual. The flat may have felt like a haven, but Cruz knew better than to trust appearances. Safety was a lie unless you created it yourself.
She unzipped her bag and began laying out her gear with practiced precision. First came the sidearm, a sleek black Glock 19, which she checked methodically before placing it within easy reach on the small table next to the couch. A backup magazine followed, along with a compact tactical knife she slipped under the couch cushion.
Next, she retrieved a small pouch of surveillance equipment—a set of discreet listening devices, a mini handheld scanner to sweep for bugs, and a pocket-sized camera. Cruz moved through the flat, scanning and double-checking every corner, her movements efficient and silent. The flat was clear, just as she expected, but the act of checking steadied her nerves.
From her bag, she pulled a slim laptop and powered it on, her fingers moving quickly as she checked a secure feed monitoring recent activity around the flat’s perimeter. The screen showed nothing unusual, but Cruz kept it on, the faint glow casting shadows on her face as she returned to the couch.
She leaned back, letting out a slow breath as she stretched her legs. The flat was quiet, the soft hum of the laptop the only sound besides Aaliyah’s steady breathing from the bed. Cruz glanced toward her briefly, noting the way Aaliyah had curled into herself under the blanket, her face turned toward the window.
The image stuck with her longer than it should have. Aaliyah looked small, fragile, but there was a resilience in her that Cruz couldn’t ignore. It unsettled her, the way this girl had managed to wedge herself into the cracks of Cruz’s armor without even trying.
Cruz shook her head, turning her attention back to the laptop. She didn’t have time for distractions. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and she needed to be ready. The weight of her sidearm on the table, the glow of the screen, and the soft sounds of the city outside reminded her of what she could control.