There are moments when one must decide whether to cross the line… or accept that it has already been crossed without realizing it.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

Not because of the mission. I’m trained to endure sleepless nights, interrogations, threats. What I can’t eliminate with the same military rigor… is the way she looked at me before leaving.

Not with fear.
Not with anger.
But with something that felt like… disappointment.

As if she had expected more from me.

And the worst part is, I’m not sure she was wrong.

The next morning, I received a note. Hand-delivered. No official seal.

“Come alone. Third underground level of the Fermenté Theater. Midnight. The enemy is watching too.”

There was no signature, but the paper faintly smelled of lilies.

Navia…

It was a trap. It could have been. Anyone else in my position would have dismissed it—or arrived with reinforcements.

But… I didn’t. I went alone. Because part of me wanted to understand. And the other part… couldn’t help it.

The Fermenté Theater had been closed for repairs for over a month. Its elegant façade contrasted with the dampness seeping into its depths. The floorboards creaked beneath my steps as I descended to the underground level, passing empty dressing rooms and dust-choked corridors.

I found her there, just as she had promised. Standing among the shadows, leaning against a worn column. She wore a different coat—simpler, less eye-catching. Her hair was loose, wavy from the humidity.

“On time… as always.”

Her voice was low, as if she feared the walls might be listening.

“I don’t like surprises,”
I replied.

“Then you’re going to hate this.”

She said, and then handed me a small envelope. I took it cautiously. Inside were photographs: shipments, marked maps, records of illegal transactions. Government officials. Soldiers. Merchants. All connected to the trafficking network.

“This wasn’t obtained legally,”
I said, without taking my eyes off the material.

“No. But it wasn’t obtained through betrayal either.”

I looked at her again. This time… I saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. The accumulated exhaustion. The concern she could no longer hide.

“Clorinde. There’s more. I learned of a new move. Tonight. They want to move a shipment through the closed canal. Hidden from the judicial system. If we don’t act now, it will vanish.”

She whispered.

“What do you mean by ‘we’?”

She looked at me. Directly. As if pushing me to the edge.

“I need your help. Not as an enemy. Not as a watcher.
As an ally.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that precedes a gunshot… or an irreversible decision.

I crossed my arms. The wall behind me was cold. Not as cold as the dilemma forming in my chest.

“All right,”
I finally said.
“But if this is a trap, I won’t hesitate to stop you.”

She smiled. But it was a sad smile. Almost vulnerable.

“I know.”

That night, we slipped together through the lower canals of Fontaine. No lights. No witnesses.

Every step we took in the darkness reminded me that this was madness. That I was drifting away from protocol. From duty. From the clarity that had always defined my life.

But at her side… I didn’t feel fear.

I felt something worse.

Hope.