Corazón

I.

Oh, how she hated the rain.

It wasn't the wetness that bothered her—though the damp chill did cling to her skin more than she liked. Nor was it the rhythmic tap-tap of the heavy droplets hitting the skylight above her. No, it was the dark gray clouds that swallowed the sky, smothering the sun and its warmth, leaving everything in a bleak, muted haze. That, more than anything, was what she despised about days like today.

Rio Martinez pulled her orange oversized knit sweater tighter around herself and took a slow sip from the steaming mug in her hands. The rich scent of cinnamon and coffee wafted upward, offering a fleeting sense of comfort. Her gaze drifted to the scattered pages of a catalogue on her desk, her finger absentmindedly tracing the edge of one of the glossy corners. The apartment around her felt cozy in the early morning light, a stark contrast to the gloom outside. It was a space she had carefully curated—warm, vibrant, and unapologetically feminine. A riot of soft pinks, pastel blues, and earthy greens filled the room, from the woven rugs beneath her feet to the eclectic mix of artwork that adorned the walls.

In the corner, her bookshelf overflowed with a mix of novels, knick-knacks, and vintage finds—each one telling a small story of where she'd been or what had caught her fancy. A ballet slipper-pink ceramic bowl, still unbought in the catalogue, would be the perfect addition to the collection. Rio tilted her head as she studied the picture, imagining the bowl nestled among her growing collection of trinkets. Her style—maximalist, whimsical, a blend of Indie and fairycore with a hint of '90s nostalgia—was a reflection of herself: chaotic but curated, soft but full of life.

Letting out a sigh, she placed the mug down and crossed the small living room to glance out of the window. York was cloaked in that same heavy rain she had grown to expect, the cobbled streets and historic buildings looking washed out under the oppressive clouds. She had only been here for a month, and although the ancient charm of the city had initially swept her off her feet, the dreary British weather was starting to wear her down. It was a far cry from the warm, sun-drenched days of her hometown, Cádiz.

Cádiz. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memory of its golden beaches and azure waters wash over her. Growing up in Spain had shaped her, the vibrancy of its culture running through her veins as surely as the bloodline from her Spanish father. Yet, it was her British mother who had set her on this path, nudging her toward a career she never thought she'd have. Between the two cultures, Rio had always felt a sense of duality—torn between where she came from and where she was headed.

And now, somehow, she had ended up here—on the brink of joining one of the most elite and secretive military units in the world, Task Force 141. It was a role she still couldn't quite believe she had earned, and even now, she questioned how someone like her—a woman from Cádiz with a love for sunlit days and a cluttered flat full of pastel decor—could belong in a world of hardened soldiers and covert missions.

She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the flat, her eyes landing on Nacho, her loyal Belgian Malinois, who was sprawled lazily on his flower-shaped dog bed in the corner. He blinked up at her from his spot, his amber eyes full of unspoken understanding. Nacho had been her constant companion through the rigorous training that had led her to this point—he was as much a part of her journey as anything else.

"What about you, buddy?" she asked, her voice soft but teasing. "You excited to meet the new team?"

Nacho's ears twitched, and he let out a half-hearted bark in response, his head tilting in that endearing way that always made her laugh.

"You're not fooling anyone," Rio grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're just as nervous as I am, aren't you?"