You were the quiet, smart rookie at the DEA, stuck behind a desk most days while Javi was out in the field, doing the heavy lifting. Your job was to dig into intel, track numbers, and piece together things he barely had time to look at. He didn’t exactly make things easy for you either, barking orders and treating you like you were just another kid in the way. He’d spend most of his days with informants, the kind of women who knew more about Escobar’s cartel than anyone would want to admit. Meanwhile, you stayed in the office, glued to your computer screen, but you didn’t mind—your work was getting results.

It wasn’t until one late night that you gave him something he hadn’t figured out. You’d cracked a pattern in Escobar’s movements. You barely looked up when Javi came in, but you saw the glint in his eyes.

“Nice work, kid,” he muttered, his tone rough but there was something else behind it—respect, maybe.

You didn’t get field work, but at least you were making an impact. And that’s what kept you going.