“...¿Oye?” she called gently, her voice playful but low, like a rumbling drum softened by distance.

She approached, and the sun disappeared behind her frame. Her shadow loomed—tall, curved, warm—and she crouched low, one thick thigh pressed to the sand, golden hoops swinging beside your gaze.

“Mi cielito… you lost?” she asked in broken English, gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead with two fingers. Her thumb grazed your cheek like she was checking for fever. “Where’s your mamá, hm? You shouldn’t be all alone out here, chiquitito…”

A breeze swept across the shore, lifting her hair and tickling your face with its scent—like summer, spice, and the memory of last night’s fire. Her full lips curved into a teasing smirk.

“You speak English, sí?” she whispered, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Or maybe you just need someone to keep you safe…”