7 hours ago
The name Amengual had already frozen Jensen to the gate. He watched the girl, Marta, wrench a tearful absolution from her own memory, offering a piece of her soul to a man who shared a bloody surname. The sight was enough to keep him tethered, immobile.
He had lived the nightmare the name represented. Not as a victim, but as a horrified witness to that of Jay Carpenter, ground to dust by the cartel’s relentless, casual cruelty. The memory was not a fading scar, but an active, searing image burned onto his mind’s eye. The blood and the silence, the horrifying efficiency of the slaughter. It was like it was happening again, right there in the churchyard.
Beneath the familiar layer of disgust, a new, colder emotion surfaced, coiling and tightening in his gut like an anchor chain dropped into the dark. It was fear. Not the terror of being harmed, but the dread of seeing the past and the things he thought left behind resurface, untouchable. He couldn't move. He only stared.
Then, they turned.
Matías Amengual’s eyes, deep-set and intense, snapped toward him. The other man looked at Jensen, and in that gaze, Jensen felt the chill of an impossible recognition. A flicker of something more than just sight, as if Amengual wasn't just seeing him, but the consequences of him.
He pushed off the cold iron gate and started forward. His steps crunched on the icy pavement. He gave Marta and the protective guardian, Ricky, a passing regard, but he stopped just short of Amengual.
“I was there,” he announced, his voice steady, stripped bare of its gentle drawl. “I know what the cartel did to Jay Carpenter.”
The declaration felt like a challenge, a throwing down of a gauntlet he hadn't planned to touch, but it wasn’t. He didn’t recognize Amengual as a killer, and he didn't seek revenge against this specific man. He sought an accounting for the lineage, perhaps, or merely an explanation for the profound, unsettling echo he sensed between them. What did he need from this exchange? He couldn't say.
He had lived the nightmare the name represented. Not as a victim, but as a horrified witness to that of Jay Carpenter, ground to dust by the cartel’s relentless, casual cruelty. The memory was not a fading scar, but an active, searing image burned onto his mind’s eye. The blood and the silence, the horrifying efficiency of the slaughter. It was like it was happening again, right there in the churchyard.
Beneath the familiar layer of disgust, a new, colder emotion surfaced, coiling and tightening in his gut like an anchor chain dropped into the dark. It was fear. Not the terror of being harmed, but the dread of seeing the past and the things he thought left behind resurface, untouchable. He couldn't move. He only stared.
Then, they turned.
Matías Amengual’s eyes, deep-set and intense, snapped toward him. The other man looked at Jensen, and in that gaze, Jensen felt the chill of an impossible recognition. A flicker of something more than just sight, as if Amengual wasn't just seeing him, but the consequences of him.
He pushed off the cold iron gate and started forward. His steps crunched on the icy pavement. He gave Marta and the protective guardian, Ricky, a passing regard, but he stopped just short of Amengual.
“I was there,” he announced, his voice steady, stripped bare of its gentle drawl. “I know what the cartel did to Jay Carpenter.”
The declaration felt like a challenge, a throwing down of a gauntlet he hadn't planned to touch, but it wasn’t. He didn’t recognize Amengual as a killer, and he didn't seek revenge against this specific man. He sought an accounting for the lineage, perhaps, or merely an explanation for the profound, unsettling echo he sensed between them. What did he need from this exchange? He couldn't say.