Granada General's Intensive Care Unit was a humming hive of controlled panic. Monitors beeped, ventilators sighed, and the low murmur of medical jargon formed a constant backdrop. Kara, disguised as Nurse Elena Vargas, moved through the controlled chaos with robotic efficiency. Her bandaged arm throbbed beneath the white lab coat, a dull counterpoint to the frantic drumming of her heart. Every passing orderly, every glance from a doctor, felt like a potential exposure. Lorenzo's reach was long; his tendrils could be anywhere within these sterile walls.
Ramón, playing Dr. Mendez with chilling competence, remained Dante's fierce advocate. He hovered near the gurney as Dr. Ruiz and his team worked swiftly. A portable X-ray machine was wheeled in, its ominous hum adding to the tension. Kara watched, her stomach churning, as the image flickered onto a screen – stark white lines of broken ribs stark against the grey lung field. One fragment perilously close to the lung's edge. Ruiz pointed, his expression grim. "See that? Potential for tension pneumo. Tube him. Now."
The procedure was swift and brutal. Dante, lost in fevered delirium, still cried out weakly as the local anesthetic was administered and the scalpel bit into his side between the bruised ribs. Kara held the sterile field kit, her hands steady only through sheer force of will, watching as the thick plastic tube was inserted, a rush of dark fluid and air hissing out into the collection chamber. Dante's breathing eased fractionally, the terrible gurgle lessening.
"Good," Ruiz muttered, securing the tube. "Start the antibiotics broad spectrum. Vanco and Pip-Tazo running. Get those cultures sent. Monitor him closely." He gave Ramón a curt nod. "Good call bringing him in, Mendez. He wouldn't have lasted the night."
As Ruiz moved to the next crisis, Ramón leaned close to Kara, his voice a whisper beneath the unit's ambient noise. "We have minutes. Tops. Once those cultures go to the lab, someone might run the ID. Or Ruiz decides to check credentials. Or Lorenzo's mole gets curious." He glanced towards the nurses' station where the senior nurse was scrutinizing the hastily fabricated transfer paperwork.
Kara's gaze remained fixed on Dante. He looked fragile beneath the tubes and wires, his face pale and slack, the fierce spirit momentarily extinguished by pain and drugs. The debt screamed in her mind – *For the mountain. For the storm.* Leaving him felt like tearing out a piece of herself. "We can't just leave him," she whispered, the words raw.
"We have no choice," Ramón hissed, his eyes scanning the exits. "Staying gets us all caught. Him included. The hospital will stabilize him. Lorenzo won't risk hitting him here, not with police crawling everywhere after the prison mess. It's the safest place for him now." He gripped her uninjured arm, not gently. "But Rosa isn't safe. Lorenzo knows she exists. Knows she was with you. He'll use her. As bait. As leverage. As punishment."
Rosa. The image of the terrified girl, locked alone in Ramón's cellar, flashed before Kara. Mateo's granddaughter. Another innocent life caught in the crossfire of her family's blood feud. Lorenzo wouldn't hesitate. He'd already proven that with Mateo. The crushing weight of responsibility settled over her, heavier than the revolver beneath her coat.
The senior nurse approached, holding the clipboard. "Dr. Mendez? The Almendralejo clinic isn't answering our requests for records. And there's no ambulance log matching this transfer." Her eyes were sharp, suspicious.
Ramón didn't miss a beat. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of professional frustration. "Typical. Comms were spotty, like I said. Probably some private transport arranged by the family panicked and drove him straight here. I found them unloading him in the bay myself." He gestured vaguely towards the entrance. "Focus on the patient, Nurse. He needs everything we've ordered. Page me if his stats drop." He turned his back dismissively, effectively shutting down the inquiry for the moment. The nurse frowned but moved away, clearly not satisfied.
"Now," Ramón breathed, pulling Kara towards the supply closet adjacent to the bay. "Distraction. Then vanish." He grabbed a stack of empty specimen containers. "Take these, look busy, head for the Biohazard disposal chute near the stairwell. Dump them. Then down the stairs. Don't run. Walk. I'll meet you outside the ER ambulance bay in five minutes. If I'm not there in ten, go. Back to the cellar. Wait."
He didn't wait for her agreement. He strode purposefully towards the nurses' station, loudly querying about another patient's lab results, drawing attention. Kara clutched the plastic containers, her knuckles white. She cast one last look at Dante. His hand twitched on the blanket. Their eyes didn't meet; he was too far under. But in that moment, the choice crystallized with brutal clarity. Saving Dante meant leaving him. Saving Rosa meant abandoning him. There was no path without sacrifice.
*I choose Rosa.*
The thought wasn't noble; it was survival. It was the debt owed to Mateo. It was preventing another life shattered by Lorenzo. Kara turned and walked, not towards the Biohazard chute, but towards the main corridor leading deeper into the hospital. She moved with the brisk, preoccupied air of a nurse on a mission, blending into the flow of staff. She passed the stairwell Ramón had indicated without a glance.
She needed a phone. A way to warn Rosa. To tell her to run. To hide. *Somewhere.* But where? The cellar was compromised if Ramón was caught. Public phones were rare, monitored. Her own phone was lost long ago. Spotting a row of administrative offices with closed doors, Kara ducked into an empty one marked 'Billing'. A phone sat on the desk. Her hand hovered over it. Calling the cellar directly was insane – traceable, and if Lorenzo's men were closing in…
*Think.* *Ramón's signal.* The specific knock pattern he'd taught Rosa. Could she mimic it over the phone? A desperate, stupid idea. But the only one she had. She lifted the receiver, dialed the number Ramón had for the cellar's rarely-used landline, praying he hadn't changed it. It rang. And rang. *Pick up, Rosa. Please.*
A click. A small, terrified voice. "*¿Hola?*"
"Rosa?" Kara whispered urgently, cupping the mouthpiece. "It's Kara. Listen carefully. Knock on the door." She paused. "Knock like this: *Tap… tap-tap… tap…*" She mimicked the pattern Ramón had shown – two slow, one fast, one slow. "Do you hear me? Knock that pattern now."
A pause. Then, faintly through the phone, Kara heard it: *Tap… tap-tap… tap…*
"Good girl," Kara breathed, relief washing over her for a second. "Now listen. Danger. Men might come. Bad men. If you hear *any* knock that isn't that pattern, *run*. The back way, through the tunnel. To the rocks. Hide. Like before. Understand?"
"*Sí,*" Rosa's voice trembled. "Kara… are you—?"
"No time. Hide. Be smart. Be brave. I'm coming." Kara slammed the phone down before Rosa could respond, before the call could be traced further. She slipped out of the office, merging back into the corridor traffic, her heart hammering.
Getting out of the hospital was easier than getting in. The shift change was beginning, creating pockets of confusion. Kara discarded the nurse's cap and the lab coat in a laundry bin, leaving her in the simple dress. She walked straight out the main entrance, head down, moving with the flow of visitors and discharged patients, vanishing into the cool Granada night.
Ramón was waiting by a nondescript Peugeot sedan parked discreetly near the ambulance bay. He didn't ask questions as she slid into the passenger seat. He just started the engine and pulled away smoothly. "Dante?" was his only word.
"Stable. For now. Tubes. Antibiotics." Kara stared straight ahead, her voice flat. "They were asking about the transfer."
Ramón grunted. "Figured. Took longer than five minutes to shake the nurse." He glanced at her. "Where to? Cellar's hot by now, I reckon. Lorenzo's hounds will be sniffing."
"Rosa," Kara said. "We need to get to Rosa first. Before Lorenzo does." She told him about the phone call, the signal. "But the cellar…"
"Compromised," Ramón finished grimly. He drove in silence for a few blocks, navigating away from the city center towards the Albaicín's labyrinthine streets. "I know a place. Safer. For now." He didn't elaborate.
He parked near a small, ancient mosque tucked away on a steep *carril*. Not the laundry, but another unassuming building nearby – a tiny, closed ceramics workshop. He used a different key on a heavy door beside the shuttered storefront. Inside, it was a single room filled with dusty pottery wheels, shelves of unfired clay pieces, and the pungent smell of wet earth. A steep ladder led to a small loft space under the eaves.
"Up," Ramón ordered. "Quiet. Lights off."
The loft was cramped, barely tall enough to stand, filled with stored canvases and unused kiln shelves. A single mattress lay on the floor. Ramón tossed Kara a thin blanket. "Get some rest if you can. I'll watch the street."
Sleep was impossible. Kara sat on the mattress, her back against the rough plaster wall, the revolver in her lap. The events of the night replayed on a loop: the chapel violence, Dante's broken body, the sterile terror of the ICU, Rosa's trembling voice on the phone. The weight of the choices pressed down on her. Leaving Dante felt like a betrayal of the debt, yet staying would have doomed Rosa. There was no right answer, only survival and sacrifice.
Ramón sat by the small loft window, peering through a crack in the shutters into the moonlit street below. His profile was etched with a deep weariness. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low in the darkness. "He wouldn't blame you, you know."
Kara didn't respond.
"Dante," Ramón clarified. "For leaving him. He'd understand the choice. Protecting the kid." He paused. "He made a similar choice once. Long time ago."
Kara looked up, the darkness hiding her expression. "What choice?"
Ramón sighed, the sound heavy in the small space. "Back when Kecent first took him in. We were… involved. In things. Stupid kid stuff, mostly. But dangerous. Dante had a younger sister. Beatriz. Twelve years old." Ramón's voice tightened. "Lorenzo's crew… they were moving into our territory. Wanted leverage. They grabbed Bea. Held her in a warehouse."
Kara's blood ran cold. She could see where this was going.
"Dante found out," Ramón continued, his voice flat. "He went mad. Wanted to storm the place. Kill them all. Kecent stopped him. Said it was suicide. Said the smart play was to deal. To trade information for the girl." Ramón paused, the memory raw. "Dante refused. Said giving Lorenzo anything made him stronger. Said he'd get her out himself. Kecent… he locked Dante up. Literally. In a storage room. Said he was protecting his investment."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken horror.
"Kecent made the deal," Ramón finally whispered. "Gave Lorenzo what he wanted. But Lorenzo… he never intended to give Bea back. Sent her back in pieces. A message." Ramón's fist clenched on the windowsill. "Dante broke out. Found her. What was left. He went after Lorenzo then. Alone. Got his face carved open for his trouble." Ramón touched his own temple, mirroring Dante's scar. "Kecent pulled him out of the gutter again. Literally. Dante swore the blood oath that day. To protect Kecent's bloodline. To never let another innocent be butchered because of hesitation. Because of a deal." Ramón turned his head slightly, his eyes glinting in the faint moonlight filtering through the shutters. "He'd understand your choice, Kara. Protecting Rosa. It's the oath he kept. Even if it meant leaving him behind."
The revelation landed like a physical blow. Dante's cold fury, his relentless protection, his aversion to deals… it was all forged in the furnace of his sister's brutal death. He hadn't just been Kecent's weapon; he'd been a broken brother, bound by an oath born of unimaginable loss and guilt. Kara's leaving him wasn't abandonment; it was an echo of the choice *he* would have made. The debt wasn't just owed; it was shared trauma.
Kara closed her eyes, the weight on her soul shifting, becoming different, no less heavy, but perhaps more understood. The revolver felt colder in her hand. Dawn was still hours away. The cellar, Rosa, Lorenzo… the immediate danger hadn't passed. But the path forward, though drenched in blood and shadow, felt clearer. She had to reach Rosa. She had to finish this. For Mateo. For Bea. For Dante, lying broken in a hospital bed. For the girl she used to be.
She opened her eyes, meeting Ramón's shadowed gaze in the gloom. "We go at first light," she stated, her voice stripped bare of doubt. "We get Rosa. Then we end Lorenzo."
Ramón held her gaze for a long moment, then gave a single, grim nod. The pact was sealed. The weapon and the shadow prepared for the final strike. The reckoning demanded its due, and Kara Kecent, heir to violence and protector of the innocent, was ready to pay it. The silence of the ceramics loft was no longer oppressive; it was the quiet before the storm.