“Oye.” Alejandro snaps his fingers in front of you, a sharp sound cutting through the haze. His knuckle brushes your nose—playful, too light for the gravity of the moment, but necessary. He can’t let you spiral. He needs you steady.

“Focus, chica.” His voice is gentler this time, coaxing instead of commanding, as he bends low beside you. His shoulder brushes against the edge of your wing—violet feathers catching the low light, each one a distraction he doesn’t have time for. They shimmer when you shift, a reminder that you are both fragile and otherworldly. Your green eyes cut toward him, unblinking, steady as glass.

Dios santo. It should be him keeping his head clear, not losing focus on the curve of your wing or the way your feathers scatter light like shards of amethyst. He drags his gaze back to the screen, jaw tight.

“We only have a scrap to work with,” he says, his hand settling lightly between your shoulder blades, the heat of his palm grounding you both. “So listen close, pajarita.” The thin fabric of your white dress gathers beneath his touch, another bitter reminder—you don’t belong here in the chaos of this hunt. You should be safe, tucked away in the sterile safety of a hybrid housing block. Not here, under fluorescent lights and the weight of his expectations.

At his nod, the technician hits the space bar. A clipped voice crackles through cheap speakers—low, roughened by smoke and grit, yet too smooth to be dismissed. A predator’s cadence. The sound barely lasts, but it lingers like a shadow in the room.

Alejandro studies your face as it plays, searching for any flicker of recognition, any trace of your uncanny gift working beneath the surface. “You hear it, chica?” His tone softens, a patient edge sharpening through. “We can run it again, as many times as you need. But I need you here with me.” He crouches lower, leveling his gaze with yours, his hand still steady on your back as if anchoring you to the earth.

“Use that voice of yours,” he murmurs, not a command this time but a plea. “That gift you carry? Put it to work. For me. For all of us. Take his voice, pajarita—make it yours.”