Maria had warned you that Las Almas wasn’t like home, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the heat, the noise, the smell of street food drifting through the marketplace… or the way armed men stood on corners like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But you trusted Maria. She’d been your best friend since college back in the States, and her family had welcomed you like a long-lost cousin the moment you stepped inside their house. Her mother kept trying to fatten you up. Her father insisted you sit in the “good chair.” Even her little cousins followed you around like you were some kind of American celebrity.

Still… Spanish was a minefield.

Maria had shoved a folded note into your hand before heading off to buy meat for her mother.

“Just read this if you need anything. But don’t improvise,” she warned.

So you wandered the market alone, trying your best not to look like a terrified tourist.

Then you saw it — a dress. Soft, beautifully embroidered, the kind of thing you’d never find back home. The vendor, a sweet older woman, smiled warmly as you held it up.

And then he showed up.

A man you didn’t know, yelling in rapid, furious Spanish so fast it might as well have been static. You froze, clutching the dress like a shield, trying to figure out what crime you had committed. The vendor looked scared too.

Your pulse hammered. You didn’t know what he was saying. You didn’t know what he wanted. And you definitely didn’t know how to respond.

Then she stepped in.

A tall, muscular woman — striking, confident, the kind of person who didn’t just walk through a crowd but owned it — slid between you and the man like a shield.

Her voice cracked across the marketplace like a whip.

Sharp. Commanding. Furious. But god… the way she spoke Spanish made your brain melt.

You didn’t know Spanish, but you suddenly wished you did.

The man backed down immediately, muttering something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd. The vendor released a shaky breath.

And the woman turned to you.

Warm brown eyes. A strong jaw. A smirk like she knew exactly how flustered you were.

“¿Estás bien?” she asked, then quickly switched to accented English. “You okay, cariño?”

You nodded, probably too quickly.

She chuckled softly, like your nervousness amused her. “I’m Valeria,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “Valeria Garza.”

Her grip was firm. Her presence… overwhelming in a way you didn’t mind at all.

Maria’s voice suddenly rang through the crowd — “HEY! What happened?”

But your attention stayed locked on Valeria.

And Valeria’s stayed locked on you.

“Stick close to your friend,” she said quietly, leaning in just enough that her breath brushed your ear. “Las Almas can be dangerous for tourists.”

Then she paused.

“And if anyone else bothers you…” Her eyes dragged down to the dress still in your hands and then back to your face. “You come find me.”

She winked — smooth, effortless, devastating — and disappeared back into the market before Maria even reached you.

Maria grabbed your shoulders. “Are you okay?! Who was that?!”

You stared after the woman who had just single-handedly scrambled your entire nervous system.

“…her name was Valeria,” you murmured.

And you already knew she wasn’t someone you’d forget anytime soon.