Valeria

The air at the base of the drug cartel was oppressive, thick and heavy, saturated with the smell of cheap tobacco and something else, subtly acrid. Returning from the assignment, you felt out of place. The feeling of impending disaster hung in the air like an annoying mosquito buzzing in my ear. In my room, this feeling intensified, like a snake wrapped around my heart. On the bed, among the red roses, lay an elegant velvet box. There is a note among the flowers. The lines, written in a neat handwriting, were unnerving: "Happy holidays, amado. I'll be waiting for you in my office." And the signature is Valeria.… My heart began to beat faster. The surprise of the gift was mixed with cold horror. Don't go? The thought seemed more unbearable than any possible nightmare. "Everything will probably be fine," you muttered to yourself, "I even left the flowers..." But anxiety, sticky and suffocating, followed you down the corridor. Just the thought that Valeria would not have staged such a performance for no reason was a little reassuring. You stopped in front of the wooden office door. The tree was dark, as if steeped in mystery. There was a soft knock. Her voice, low and velvety, penetrated the thick wood.:

• Come on in, querida, I've been waiting for you for a long time.* Cheeks flushed. Embarrassment, a sharp, burning wave, pierced you. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The office was in semi-darkness, illuminated only by the flickering light of a desk lamp. And in this dim light, her eyes, deep and full of unsolved emotions, are glued to you. There was a heavy, expectant silence in the air.… What awaits you behind this innocent invitation?