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CHAPTER EIGHT, The Watchers ❝ You know you like it. ❞
THENEIGHBORHOOD WASQUIET, as always. Rows of pristine houses sat in perfect stillness, their manicured gardens tucked neatly behind wrought-iron fences. The only sound came from the occasional hum of air conditioners or a distant dog barking. By mid-September, everyone had fallen back into their routines—early mornings, late nights, and a kind of silence that hung heavy in the air.
Solana leaned against her bedroom window, staring out at the empty street. The cool night breeze slipped through the small crack she'd opened, brushing against her face. She should've been asleep. Her parents were already in bed, and Irene was typing away on her laptop, likely working on one of her perfect essays.
But Solana couldn't sleep. Not here. Not now.
Since returning from Brazil, something inside her had shifted. The vibrant streets of Rio and São Paulo, the laughter, the dancing, the music that seemed to fill the air day and night—those memories still clung to her like the glitter from a carnival costume. Everything there had been alive, electric, colorful. Here, life felt dull. Predictable.
She closed the window and paced her room, her eyes flicking to her phone on the nightstand. She had stumbled across a post earlier about a festival in a small town just outside the city. It wasn't Brazil, but it was something. She hadn't been able to shake the thought since.
Her heart thudded at the idea. She had never snuck out before. She wasn't the type to go behind her parents' backs—not because she was scared of getting caught, but because she never felt the need. But now? Now, the need was all she could feel.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her denim jacket and slipped on her sneakers. The house was dark and still as she opened her window. She hesitated, her heart hammering, then swung one leg out, then the other.
The ground felt solid beneath her feet, but her knees still wobbled. She ducked around the side of the house, retrieving her bike from where it was propped near the garden wall. As she mounted it and pushed off into the street, a thrill shot through her. She was doing it. She was actually doing it.
The roads stretched out before her, wide and empty. The streetlights threw long, pale shadows, and the sound of her tires on the pavement was the only noise in the stillness. It was strange, biking alone at night. The air felt heavier somehow, the darkness deeper. She wasn't scared—not exactly—but there was a nervousness that crept into her chest.
Years later, Solana would think back on this night and wonder how she ever felt so fearless. This would be the first and last time she biked at night alone. In just a few years, Zacatecas would change. Small towns like the one she was heading to would become dangerous, claimed by cartels and torn apart by violence. But tonight, the road was quiet, and the only battle she faced was the one inside her—between the good girl she'd always been and the person she was becoming.
