Barcelona-Sants
Aaliyah
The streets of Barcelona were alive with shadows. Every figure that passed, every flicker of movement, made Aaliyah’s heart pound. She kept close to Cruz, her steps hurried but quiet as they wound through narrow alleyways and quiet side streets. The city’s vibrant life felt distant, like they were moving through a different world altogether.
Cruz was a wall of composure, her movements fluid and deliberate, but Aaliyah could feel the tension radiating off her. It didn’t make her feel any safer—if anything, it made her more anxious. Cruz’s head was on a constant swivel, her dark eyes scanning every street corner, every face in the crowd.
A few blocks from the station, Cruz’s hand shot out, stopping Aaliyah in her tracks. Aaliyah’s breath hitched as Cruz motioned for her to step back into the shadow of a doorway. Cruz leaned slightly around the corner, her body taut with tension.
“What is it?” Aaliyah whispered.
Cruz didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed ahead. “Two men,” she said finally, her voice low and measured. “Near the kiosk. Could just be locals, but I don’t like the way they’re standing.”
Aaliyah followed Cruz’s line of sight but didn’t see anything unusual. The men were chatting, one holding a coffee cup, the other glancing at his phone. They didn’t look threatening to her untrained eye, but Cruz saw something she didn’t. It was maddening.
“Are they looking for us?” Aaliyah asked, her voice barely audible.
“Not yet,” Cruz said, her gaze sharp. “But we’re not taking chances.”
She pulled back, grabbing Aaliyah’s arm to guide her down another street. The touch was steady, grounding, but Aaliyah couldn’t help but bristle at the way Cruz moved her without explanation. She wasn’t a child, and she hated feeling like she was being managed.
They circled a few more blocks, the station coming into view. Cruz paused once more, scanning the area before nodding for Aaliyah to follow.
--
The inside of the station was chaotic. A labyrinth of rushing travelers, clattering luggage, and distant announcements echoed through the cavernous space. Aaliyah stuck close to Cruz, her heart still racing as they wove through the crowd. She was acutely aware of every glance, every passing figure, certain that someone was following them—even if Cruz had assured her they were clear for now.
They reached the ticket counter, and Cruz stepped up, her shoulders squared with confidence. Aaliyah watched in awe as Cruz switched to fluent Spanish, her voice smooth and commanding as she spoke to the ticket agent. The way Cruz’s words rolled off her tongue, her tone firm but polite, made Aaliyah’s stomach flutter unexpectedly. It was a reminder of just how much Cruz was capable of, how much she hadn’t yet revealed.
Within minutes, Cruz returned, holding two tickets. “Train to Paris,” she said, handing one to Aaliyah. “We’ll switch trains in Paris and again in Stuttgart to get to Salzburg.”
Aaliyah blinked, staring down at the ticket in her hand. “Salzburg?”
“It’s a good place to lay low,” Cruz said simply. “Not a big tourist destination this time of year, but busy enough to disappear.”
“Right,” Aaliyah said softly, her gaze lingering on Cruz. She wanted to say more—to ask about the language, about the plan, about everything—but Cruz’s focus had already shifted, her eyes scanning the station again.
“Let’s go,” Cruz said, motioning toward the platform.
--
The train was a sleek, modern marvel, its first-class cars lined with plush seating and elegant lighting. Cruz led Aaliyah to their private cabin, a small but comfortable space with two seats facing each other and a window that offered a view of the platform. Aaliyah slid into one seat, setting her bag on the floor, while Cruz positioned herself across from her, facing the door.
For a moment, they sat in silence. The hum of the train and the muffled sounds of the station created a fragile sense of calm. But Aaliyah’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.
“What now?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Now we ride,” Cruz said, her tone neutral. “It’s about seven hours to Paris. Get some rest if you can.”
Aaliyah clenched her jaw. “That’s it? No details, no plan, just… ‘ride and rest’?”
Cruz raised an eyebrow. “That’s the plan for now.”
“For now,” Aaliyah repeated, her voice rising slightly. “Cruz, I can’t keep doing this—just blindly following you without knowing what’s going on.”
“You don’t need to know everything,” Cruz said evenly, her gaze unwavering. “You need to trust me.”
Aaliyah let out a frustrated laugh. “Trust you? I do trust you. But trust doesn’t mean I have to sit here like a passenger while you make all the decisions.”
Cruz’s eyes narrowed slightly. “This isn’t about control, Aaliyah. It’s about survival. I’ve done this before—you haven’t.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t help,” Aaliyah shot back. “I want to help. I want to feel like I’m part of this—not just someone you’re dragging along.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Aaliyah could see the conflict flicker across her face, the tension between her instinct to protect and her reluctance to let anyone into the decisions she made.
“Fine,” Cruz said finally, her tone softer but still guarded. “You want to help? Stay alert. Watch for anything unusual when we switch trains. Don’t wander off. Don’t talk to anyone. That’s how you help.”
It wasn’t the answer Aaliyah wanted, but it was something. She nodded, her frustration ebbing slightly. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good,” Cruz said, leaning back in her seat. But the tension in her posture didn’t ease, and Aaliyah wondered if it ever would.
--
The train lurched forward, the platform slipping away as they began their journey. Aaliyah stared out the window, the city lights fading into the distance. The cabin was quiet again, but the silence felt different now—charged, unresolved.
She glanced at Cruz, who had closed her eyes but didn’t look remotely relaxed. The lines of her face were hard, her jaw tight, her hands resting loosely on her lap as though she were ready to spring into action at any moment. Aaliyah wondered what it would take to make her soften, even just a little.
But that wasn’t the Cruz she knew. Cruz wasn’t soft. She was steel and fire, a fortress built to keep the world out. And Aaliyah wasn’t sure she’d ever find a way in.
Cruz
The train station loomed ahead like a giant chessboard, every moving piece a potential threat. Cruz kept her pace brisk and deliberate, her senses tuned to every detail—the shuffle of footsteps, the hum of voices, the faint hiss of an announcement over the loudspeakers. Her hand hovered near her jacket, ready to draw her weapon if necessary.
Aaliyah stayed close, her footsteps quick and light, but Cruz could feel the tension radiating off her. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, catching the flicker of unease in Aaliyah’s expression. Her instincts screamed at her to say something reassuring, to ease the girl’s obvious fear, but words had never been her strong suit.
Focus on the task. Keep her safe. That’s all that matters.
--
Inside the station, chaos reigned. Travelers bustled past in waves, their chatter and the clatter of rolling suitcases creating a wall of sound. Cruz scanned the crowd with practiced precision, cataloging every detail: the suited man pacing by the ticket counter, the woman with the oversized backpack arguing with a vendor, the teenager glued to his phone near the entrance. Nothing raised immediate red flags, but the tension in Cruz’s gut didn’t ease.
She approached the ticket counter, sliding into the queue. Aaliyah lingered behind her, close enough that Cruz could sense her presence but not so close that they drew attention. Cruz kept her movements calm and her demeanor professional as she stepped up to the counter.
“Dos billetes de primera clase a París,” she said smoothly, her Spanish flawless.
The ticket agent nodded, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he printed the tickets. Cruz’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but her mind kept working. Every second they stood still felt like a risk. She kept her eyes on the agent, her tone even but firm. “¿Cuánto tiempo antes de que salga el tren?”
“Veinte minutos,” the agent replied, sliding the tickets across the counter. “Vagón cinco.”
Cruz nodded, offering a curt thanks before turning back to Aaliyah. The girl was watching her, her green eyes wide with something that looked like… admiration? Cruz handed her one of the tickets, ignoring the flutter in her chest.
“Train to Paris,” she said briskly. “We switch in Paris and again in Stuttgart to get to Salzburg.”
“Salzburg?” Aaliyah asked, her voice soft but curious.
“It’s quiet, off the radar,” Cruz replied. “We’ll blend in there.”
Aaliyah nodded, her gaze lingering on Cruz for a moment longer than necessary. Cruz turned away, leading the way toward the platform. She didn’t need to see the look in Aaliyah’s eyes to know it was there—gratitude, trust, something warmer that Cruz couldn’t afford to name. It made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to unpack.
Keep moving. Don’t let her in.
--
The train was sleek and modern, its first-class cars quiet and dimly lit. Cruz felt a flicker of relief as they reached their private cabin. She let Aaliyah enter first, then followed, her movements efficient as she positioned herself in the seat facing the door. Always the best vantage point. Always ready.
The cabin was small but comfortable. Cruz noted the thick curtains, the discreet lighting, the solid lock on the door. All good. She stowed her bag under her seat, her mind already running through contingencies.
“You okay?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence.
“Fine,” Cruz replied, her voice clipped. “Get comfortable. We’ve got seven hours to Paris.”
Aaliyah sat across from her, her bag tucked by her feet. For a moment, Cruz allowed herself to relax slightly, leaning back in her seat. But then Aaliyah spoke again, and the fragile peace in the cabin cracked.
“What now?” Aaliyah asked.
“Now we ride,” Cruz said simply. “Get some rest if you can.”
“That’s it?” Aaliyah’s voice rose slightly, frustration clear in her tone. “No details, no plan, just… ‘ride and rest’?”
Cruz tensed, her dark eyes locking onto Aaliyah’s. “That’s the plan for now.”
“For now,” Aaliyah echoed, her voice sharp. “Cruz, I can’t keep doing this—just blindly following you without knowing what’s going on.”
The words caught Cruz off guard. Aaliyah didn’t realize how close she was to the truth: Cruz didn’t have all the answers. She was improvising, flying by instinct and experience, and every decision felt like walking a tightrope without a safety net. But admitting that? Letting Aaliyah see the cracks? Impossible.
“You don’t need to know everything,” Cruz said, her tone firm. “You need to trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Aaliyah shot back, her frustration simmering. “But trust doesn’t mean I have to sit here like a passenger while you make all the decisions.”
Cruz exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. Aaliyah didn’t understand what she was asking. Cruz’s entire life had been built on control—on being the one who planned, executed, protected. Letting someone else into that equation felt like a risk she couldn’t take.
But Aaliyah wasn’t wrong. Cruz could see the fire in her eyes, the determination that refused to be smothered. And despite herself, Cruz respected it.
“Fine,” Cruz said finally, her voice softening slightly. “You want to help? Stay alert. Watch for anything unusual when we switch trains. Don’t wander off. Don’t talk to anyone. That’s how you help.”
Aaliyah’s frustration eased slightly, her shoulders relaxing. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good,” Cruz said, leaning back again. But the tension in her chest didn’t ease. Aaliyah wanted to help, to share the burden, but Cruz couldn’t shake the fear that trusting her too much would only put her in more danger.
--
As the train pulled out of the station, Cruz closed her eyes, letting the gentle sway of the car ground her. She could hear Aaliyah shifting in her seat, feel the girl’s gaze lingering on her. It made her skin prickle, the weight of that trust pressing down on her like a physical thing.
Don’t let her down, Cruz thought. No matter what it takes.
But the truth was a quiet, gnawing thing in the back of her mind. For the first time in years, Cruz wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to carry the weight.