Saval sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the wall in his room. The afternoon light filtered through the window—golden, warm, as if it had no clue what was going on. As if it didn't care that everything was falling apart.
Since Semiel had left, he hadn't done anything but sit there. He didn't turn on his computer. Didn't check Discord. Didn't open the group chat. Didn't look at his phone. His head hurt, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the silence or everything he'd heard.
He felt hollow.
He remembered Semiel's words. That last sentence, said while looking him straight in the eyes, like a confession:
—You're the most important thing to me in all of this.
And what did that even mean? What was he supposed to do with that? Was he supposed to say something back?
He couldn't. He didn't know how.
He had just nodded, dazed, and let his friend walk out the door.
Now he didn't know if he was coming back.
Saval stood up. Walked over to his desk and looked at the dark monitor screen. It seemed absurd now, so useless in that moment. As if that whole digital world—the one that had brought them together, the one that had given them reasons to laugh and spend entire nights gaming or editing videos—suddenly meant nothing.
He thought about Santiago.
About everything he'd done. About how he'd dragged them all to this point.
He also thought about himself. About how he'd justified it. About how he'd forced himself to understand. He didn't want to be left alone. And maybe, deep down, he was afraid of being alone too.
He had told Semiel they needed to think before acting. That they couldn't go public without a strategy.
But now he wasn't so sure.
What if they were wrong? What if the right thing wasn't to protect Santiago, but to walk away? To clear their names while they still could?
He shook his head.
No, he didn't want to become someone who only looked out for himself. But he didn't want to pretend he couldn't see what Santiago had done either. And he realized he didn't have answers. That no matter how hard he tried to make sense of it, it all hurt just the same.He got up and turned on his computer. He still didn't know what he was going to do, but he needed to do something. Maybe check his email. Maybe read the group chat. Maybe… he didn't know. He just needed some kind of sign.
As soon as the browser opened, he saw a notification.
A file had been shared by someone using an anonymous name. He didn't recognize the email address.
His stomach twisted a little. He hesitated—maybe it was a virus—but eventually, he clicked on the file.
It opened. A PDF.
And it was a bomb.
There were screenshots, emails, money transfer records, cross-references with the shared fund, comparisons with dates when Santiago had claimed to buy personal stuff. It was all there. As if someone had taken the time to put it together like an actual report.He leaned back in his chair. His stomach churned—he felt like throwing up.
Who had done this?
It wasn't Antonella—at least not directly. Or not with her official account. But the style… it was familiar. That way of writing, of linking data, of staying a step ahead of every question. It was her—or someone who knew her well.
And if she already had this, then… they were finished.
He ran his hands over his face. He had to figure out what to do.
And what to do about Santiago.
His thoughts went back to Semiel. His face, the disappointment, the quiet pain when he spoke. The way he left.
What was he doing now?
—
Semiel walked down the sidewalk, phone in hand, earbuds hanging around his neck. He wasn't listening to music. He just needed to walk, to breathe, to get his thoughts in order.
Ever since he'd left Saval's place, he'd felt a kind of quiet rage. Not the explosive kind. Something deeper. Like a disappointment that didn't scream, but weighed on you.
He didn't want to hate Saval.
And he didn't. But it hurt.
It hurt that Saval hadn't understood him. That he didn't put himself in his shoes, that he acted like logic and strategy were more important than trust.
And what hurt even more was knowing he couldn't hate him—because he loved him.
He'd known it for a while. Since those long late-night calls, the inside jokes only they understood, the random messages Saval sent just to check in.
But he'd never said it. He'd thought about it once, but then Santiago helped him, so there was no need.
Not because he was afraid of being rejected—though yeah, maybe a little—but because he didn't want to ruin what they had. Just being there, close to him, part of his world... that was enough.
No. The truth is, I'm a coward. I really am scared he'll leave me.
Now that world was falling apart. And he had no idea how to stop it.
He felt his phone vibrate. A message. He opened it without much interest.
It was an image. A screenshot. The same document Saval had seen just minutes ago. But this time, sent directly from a named account: Antonella.
—F*cking witch —he muttered.
She knew. She had already seen it all coming.
And now, it was just a matter of what she would do with that information.
He could stay quiet. Pretend he hadn't seen it. But something inside him refused to keep playing that game.
He stared at the phone, hesitating.
Then, without thinking too much, he searched for the contact.
Antonella.
Her name was still saved, even though they hadn't spoken in a long time.
He called and put it on speaker.
After a few rings, she picked up.
—Hey —she said, in her usual voice, playful, like she already knew why he was calling—. What's the miracle, you calling me?
Semiel took a deep breath.
—Witch, I've got a deal for you.
Silence.
Then Antonella laughed softly, intrigued.
—I'm listening.