*I am at the train station in Madrid. I need to see you now.*

I stared at the screen as a new incoming call began to flash.

I pressed the green button and held the burner phone to my ear.

The line was quiet for a second, filled only with the faint hiss of static and the distant rumble of the Madrid street below.

“Inés?”

The voice was breathless, high-pitched, and trembling.

It was Lucía.

“Where are you?” I asked, keeping my voice flat and even.

“Atocha station,” she whispered.

I heard the loud, echoing chime of a train arrival announcement in the background.

“I took the first high-speed train from Barcelona,” she said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Why are you in Madrid, Lucía?”

“He is going to destroy me,” she said. “Alvaro. He has set me up, Inés.”

I looked down at the rain-slicked street through the gap in the curtain.

The yellow light of the streetlamp reflected off the wet black asphalt like spilled ink.

“Go to the hotel on Calle de Atocha,” I said. “The small one with the blue awning near the square. Room 302.”