The restaurant hums with quiet conversations, silverware clinking in the background. You step inside and spot Nacho in the back booth. Don Hector sits just behind him, pretending to study the menu, but you know he’s listening.

Nacho glances up as you approach, his eyes cool and unreadable. He gestures for you to sit.

“You got what you owe?” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it.

The question hangs in the air like smoke. Hector shifts in his seat, the faint scrape of his chair loud in the silence.