Not Rafael Gómez, like Daniel had told you.
Not Rafael Herrera.
Rafael Medina, the firefighter who entered a burning apartment building on March 14th, 2007, and rescued two children.
Two.
Your vision blurs.
You were one.
Who was the other?
Your mouth goes dry.
You flip the page and see a photo clipped to the report.
Two kids wrapped in blankets.
A little girl with soot on her cheeks.
And beside her, a little boy with the same dark eyes Daniel has.
Your knees weaken.
Daniel was there.
Daniel was the other child.
Your brain tries to reject it, but the photo doesn’t care.
The photo is truth.
You hear a car door slam outside.
Your blood turns cold.
Daniel is home.
You close the box fast and shove it back where it was, but it’s too late. The room has already changed shape around the secret.
Footsteps pound down the hallway.
The bedroom door swings open hard enough to hit the wall.
Daniel stands there breathing like he ran the whole way, suit wrinkled, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
His eyes lock on you.
Then flick to his father.
Then back to you with something close to panic.
“You didn’t listen,” he says, voice low.
You step forward slowly, palms open.
“He was suffering,” you say. “I couldn’t—”
Daniel’s gaze flashes.
“You promised,” he hisses.
Your throat tightens.
“I know,” you whisper. “But Daniel, look at him. He was—”
“I told you never to come in here,” Daniel snaps, and his voice cracks on the last word like it’s hiding something bigger than anger.
Don Rafael’s eyes widen, desperate, and he tries to move, tries to make a sound, but his body won’t cooperate.
Daniel doesn’t look at him.
He looks at you like you’re the threat.
“Did you see it?” Daniel asks, voice suddenly quieter, more dangerous. “The mark.”
Your heart slams.
He knows.
He’s always known.
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