Goodbye, Barcelona
Aaliyah
The quiet wasn’t safe. It was suffocating.
Aaliyah stared at the ceiling, her chest tightening with every second that passed. The flat was still, the muted buzz of Barcelona’s streets far below offering little comfort. She could hear Cruz at the table, her fingers tapping steadily on the laptop keyboard, the faint hum of the machine like a pulse in the silence.
Four days. Four days of waiting, of hiding, of watching Cruz build invisible walls higher and higher while Aaliyah felt herself unraveling. The stillness wasn’t a reprieve—it was a trap. Something was coming, and she could feel it pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake.
She rolled out of bed, her feet brushing against the cool floor. Cruz didn’t acknowledge her approach, her focus locked on the screen in front of her. But even from across the room, Aaliyah could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.
“Anything?” Aaliyah asked, her voice hoarse.
“No,” Cruz replied, her tone clipped. “Still quiet.”
The words made Aaliyah’s stomach drop. She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Quiet doesn’t feel safe.”
“It’s not,” Cruz said, still not looking at her.
The admission made Aaliyah’s heart race. She moved closer, the urge to see what Cruz was working on overwhelming her unease. “What do we do then?” she asked, standing just behind Cruz.
Cruz exhaled through her nose, her fingers pausing briefly on the keyboard. “We wait.”
“For what? For them to find us?” Aaliyah’s voice cracked, her frustration bubbling over. “We can’t just sit here!”
Cruz turned to her, her dark eyes sharp and cold. “We don’t make a move until we know what we’re up against. You want to stay alive? You trust me.”
Aaliyah flinched at the harshness of her tone, but her jaw tightened. “I do trust you. But I’m not sure you even know what you’re waiting for.”
The tension crackled between them, sharp and suffocating. Aaliyah opened her mouth to press further, but a faint ping from the laptop cut her off. Cruz snapped her attention back to the screen, her fingers flying over the keys.
“What is it?” Aaliyah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cruz’s expression darkened as she read the incoming message. “One of my contacts. They’ve flagged movement in Madrid—two men asking about you at the embassy.”
Aaliyah’s stomach lurched. “The embassy? But I haven’t—”
“They’re using your family,” Cruz interrupted, her tone hard. “It’s subtle for now, but they’re narrowing the search.”
The room spun as Aaliyah tried to process Cruz’s words. Her father’s reach was suffocating, endless, and it was closing in on them. “So they know we’re in Spain?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Not yet,” Cruz replied. “But they will. It’s time to move.”
--
The hours that followed felt like a fever dream. Cruz packed with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times before, her movements quick and methodical. Aaliyah tried to follow her lead, but her hands were clumsy, her thoughts fractured. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of sound from outside made her flinch.
“We leave after sunset,” Cruz said, her voice low but commanding. “Pack light. No loose ends.”
Aaliyah nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn’t dare ask where they were going—she wasn’t sure Cruz even knew.
By the time they stepped into the cool night air, the tension between them was a physical thing. Cruz led the way, her strides purposeful and her gaze darting to every shadow, every movement in the streets around them. Aaliyah stayed close, her heart pounding with every step.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“The station,” Cruz replied without looking back. “We’ll catch the night train out of the city.”
“What if they’re watching the station?”
“They’re not there yet,” Cruz said firmly. “We’ll be gone before they get close.”
Aaliyah wanted to believe her, but the unease coiling in her chest wouldn’t let her. The streets felt too open, the shadows too deep. Every sound seemed amplified, every figure in the distance a potential threat.
They turned down a narrow side street, and Cruz raised a hand to signal a stop. Aaliyah froze, her pulse roaring in her ears as Cruz scanned the street ahead.
“What is it?” Aaliyah whispered, her voice barely audible.
Cruz’s reply was a low murmur. “Two men. Ten o’clock. Dressed wrong for locals.”
Aaliyah’s blood ran cold. “You think it’s—”
“Maybe,” Cruz cut in. Her hand brushed against Aaliyah’s arm as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near-growl. “Stay close. Don’t make a sound.”
They slipped into the shadows, Cruz’s body tense as a bowstring as she guided Aaliyah to the edge of the alley. Aaliyah’s heart hammered against her ribs, the fear clawing at her throat. Cruz leaned in close, her breath ghosting against Aaliyah’s ear.
“If they spot us, follow my lead,” Cruz whispered. “No running unless I say.”
Aaliyah nodded, too terrified to speak. But even in the suffocating tension of the moment, the closeness made her chest tighten with something else entirely. Cruz’s hand lingered on her arm for just a moment too long before pulling away, and Aaliyah felt the absence like a loss.
The men passed without incident, their footsteps fading into the night. Cruz didn’t move, keeping them pressed to the wall for what felt like an eternity. When she finally signaled to move, Aaliyah’s legs felt unsteady, her body trembling with adrenaline.
“Are you okay?” Cruz asked quietly, her dark eyes searching Aaliyah’s face.
Aaliyah nodded, though her voice betrayed her. “Are we going to make it?”
Cruz hesitated, the faintest flicker of vulnerability crossing her expression. “We will,” she said, and for the first time, Aaliyah wasn’t sure she believed her.
The air between them was charged, the fear and frustration blurring into something sharper, something unspoken. Aaliyah forced herself to look away, focusing on the street ahead as they slipped deeper into the city.
The storm wasn’t coming anymore. It was here.
Cruz
Cruz had learned to live with tension. She thrived in it, even—thrived in the sharp edges of danger, the constant pull of fight-or-flight. But this tension, this quiet waiting, was a different beast altogether. It wasn’t adrenaline; it was dread.
The flat felt smaller every day, the walls closing in with every unanswered message, every second of silence from her contacts. The storm wasn’t just brewing—it was already here, hanging above them like a dark cloud, ready to break. And Cruz was running out of time.
She sat at the table, her laptop glowing faintly in the dim room. Surveillance feeds. Message threads. The same empty responses. She tapped her fingers against the edge of the keyboard, her jaw clenched. Her contacts weren’t coming through. No updates on Aaliyah’s father. No word on the fiancé. No one would tell her what she needed to know.
You’re losing your edge.
The thought hit her like a slap. Cruz gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus on the screen. She was supposed to be better than this—smarter, faster, more prepared. She’d built a career on staying ahead, but now she felt like she was running blind, and she hated it. Hated the vulnerability clawing at her edges. Hated the doubt that whispered she was in over her head.
Aaliyah’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Anything?”
Cruz glanced up briefly. “No. Still quiet.”
She could feel Aaliyah’s frustration even before the girl stepped closer, the weight of her gaze heavy on Cruz’s back. Aaliyah wasn’t built for this kind of stillness. Cruz had seen it in the way she fidgeted by the window, the way she asked too many questions, always searching for something solid to hold onto. Cruz didn’t have that to give—not when she didn’t have answers herself.
“You’re worried,” Aaliyah said softly.
Cruz kept her eyes on the screen. “I’m always worried.”
“No, I mean more than usual,” Aaliyah pressed. Her voice was quiet, but Cruz heard the accusation beneath it.
She’s not wrong. The silence wasn’t safety; it was the calm before the storm, and Cruz had been doing this long enough to know how quickly calm could shatter. She exhaled sharply, her fingers pausing on the keyboard. “It’s too quiet,” she admitted.
“What do we do, then?”
Cruz looked up, her eyes locking onto Aaliyah’s. The girl’s green eyes were wide, searching, and it made Cruz’s chest tighten. Aaliyah wanted reassurance, but Cruz didn’t have any to give. “We wait,” she said evenly. “Until we know what we’re up against.”
Aaliyah bristled, frustration flickering across her face. “Waiting doesn’t feel very safe.”
“It’s safer than running blind,” Cruz shot back. Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take it back. “You want to stay alive? Trust me.”
Aaliyah flinched, the weight of Cruz’s words landing between them like a stone. Cruz hated the way it felt—like she’d pushed too hard, like she’d failed to keep the edges of her frustration from cutting someone who didn’t deserve it. But she couldn’t let Aaliyah see her doubt. She couldn’t let her see the cracks.
Because the truth—the one Cruz couldn’t even admit to herself until now—was that she was scared. Not for herself. She was scared because she didn’t know if she could keep Aaliyah safe. The girl was trusting her with everything—her life, her freedom—and Cruz felt the weight of it like an anchor tied to her chest.
The faint ping from the laptop saved her from saying anything else. She turned back to the screen, her fingers flying over the keys as she opened the message.
“What is it?” Aaliyah asked, her voice tight.
Cruz’s stomach sank as she scanned the message. “One of my contacts. They’ve flagged movement in Madrid—two men asking about you at the embassy.”
Aaliyah went pale. “The embassy? But I haven’t—”
“They’re using your family,” Cruz interrupted, her tone colder than she intended. “They’re asking around quietly, but they’re narrowing the search.”
She closed the laptop with a sharp snap, already moving to gather her gear. “It’s time to move.”
--
The hours that followed were a blur of preparation. Cruz packed with precision, every movement calculated and deliberate. Her hands didn’t shake, but her mind was racing. The flat, which had been a sanctuary for days, now felt like a trap. Every shadow seemed sharper, every sound amplified.
She kept glancing at Aaliyah as they prepared to leave. The girl moved quickly, her movements clumsy but determined. Cruz could see the fear in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, and it made her chest ache. Aaliyah was trusting her—fully, completely—and Cruz wasn’t sure if she could live up to it.
They slipped into the night, the cool air biting against Cruz’s skin. She led the way through the streets, her gaze darting to every shadow, every figure in the distance. She could feel Aaliyah close behind her, the warmth of her presence a constant reminder of how much was at stake.
“Where are we going?” Aaliyah whispered.
“The station,” Cruz replied, her voice steady. “We’ll catch the night train out of the city.”
“And if they’re watching the station?”
“They’re not there yet,” Cruz said firmly. “We’ll be gone before they get close.”
Her confidence wasn’t a lie—it was a mask. The truth was, Cruz didn’t know for sure if they were ahead of the enemy. She was gambling, and every step felt like walking a tightrope without a net.
They turned down a side street, and Cruz raised a hand, signaling Aaliyah to stop. Her pulse quickened as she spotted two men standing at the far end of the street. They didn’t look like tourists. Their clothes were too polished, their posture too stiff. Cruz’s instincts screamed at her.
“Stay close,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Don’t make a sound.”
She guided Aaliyah into the shadows, her hand brushing the girl’s arm to keep her steady. Cruz’s breath ghosted against Aaliyah’s ear as she murmured, “If they spot us, follow my lead. No running unless I say.”
Aaliyah nodded, her eyes wide with fear. Cruz felt the tension in her chest deepen. She couldn’t let anything happen to Aaliyah—not here, not now. Not ever.
The men passed without incident, their footsteps fading into the distance. Cruz didn’t move until she was certain they were gone, her body coiled like a spring. Finally, she exhaled and turned to Aaliyah.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
Aaliyah’s voice trembled. “Are we going to make it?”
Cruz hesitated. She wanted to say yes, to give Aaliyah the certainty she craved. But the truth lodged in her throat like a stone. “We will,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended.
She didn’t know if it was true, but she needed Aaliyah to believe it.