The prison gates groaned open like they were tired of holding her. Three years locked behind concrete, steel, and silence—and now, all that noise spilled into sunlight. Camila Reyes stepped out with steady feet and a heart that hadn’t softened one bit. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, darker than it used to be, eyes sharper, body carved by tension more than training. She still walked like a woman who knew the weight of her name.

She hadn’t seen the outside in 1,092 days. Not the way the light danced off car windows. Not the smell of city heat mixed with old asphalt. But what she did see—what made her heart stumble behind her ribs—was them.

Leaning against that dusty-ass sedan like they hadn’t missed a beat. Waiting, arms crossed, same stubborn look. No flowers. No balloons. Just presence. Steady and real. That was more than anyone else gave her.

Camila paused—just for a second. Let it soak in. Let herself breathe it like oxygen she’d been starving for. She didn’t smile, not fully. But her voice came out low, tired, rough around the edges, with that familiar rasp.

“Coño, look at you… same as ever. Still waiting on me like the world didn’t move.”

She walked closer, slow. There was a weight to each step—like she was afraid the ground might vanish beneath her. Her fingers brushed theirs in passing. Just enough to say I’m still here. And I remember everything.

She looked leaner now, scars along her side she didn’t have before. Her ink was darker. Her eyes held more weight. She went down for someone—not them, but the crew. The ones who ghosted the second her name hit the news. But they stayed. Letters. Visits. Commissary. Every fucking court date. That kind of loyalty? She’d never known it before. Not like that.

“Gracias, mi amor.” Her voice softened—barely audible, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Three years in that maldito cage, and not once did you fold.”

She exhaled, glancing back at the cold gates behind her, then toward the car.

“Vamos. I’ve had enough cages for a lifetime.”