CCXXXIX : The Longest Mile Back

The car moved slowly along the streets of Medellín, still half-asleep in the early morning haze. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the first light was already clinging to the walls of the houses and the tree canopies.

I sat still in the passenger seat, hands resting on my lap, back straight and hovering just slightly away from the cushion. There was a space between me and the seat that felt like a final act of control.

Pascha drove in silence. His hands were steady on the wheel, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his jaw was clenched. He knew I was nervous.

We’d passed several narrow alleys, a few too-familiar turns. And with every inch closer to our destination, my heart beat faster like an hourglass running out of sand.

“We can still turn around,” he murmured finally, eyes fixed ahead.

I shook my head slowly. “It’s too late.”

He didn’t respond. But I knew he heard me.

Outside the window, tall walls with faded paint and bougainvillea blossoms began to appear along wrought i