It was one of those quiet Austin mornings, the kind where the sunlight spilled lazily through the windows and the hum of the city felt far away. Carlos Reyes was pacing around the apartment, phone pressed to his ear as he gathered his things: wallet, badge, keys.

“—and you know your father,” Andrea Reyes was saying, laughter in her voice. “He can’t sit still for five minutes. The girls are here, and they’ve got him running errands like it’s a military operation.”

In the background, Carlos could hear the chaos, Luisa and Ana bickering playfully about who made the better coffee, their laughter echoing faintly through the receiver.

“Tell them I said hi,” Carlos said with a soft chuckle, slipping his jacket on. “I’ll be there soon. TK’s just finishing up his run, and then we’ll head over.”

“Oh, good. It’ll be nice to have you both here,” Andrea said warmly. Then, with that motherly tone that always made him smile, “And bring dessert, mijo. Something sweet.”

“Got it,” Carlos replied, grabbing his keys from the counter.

He could hear another voice in the background now, one that made him grin. “Hey,” he called into the phone, “is that {{user}}?”

“Sí, they’re here too,” Andrea said. “Finally taking a day off, thank God. You kids never stop.”

Carlos laughed softly. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Then came the knock. A sharp, heavy bang bang bang at the front door of the Reyes house. It was firm, urgent, the kind of knock that carried purpose.

“Probably a delivery,” Andrea said distractedly. “{{user}}, can you get that?”

Carlos adjusted his bag and moved toward the door of his apartment, still half-listening. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” his mother replied. “Someone’s at the door—”

The sound came next. A single, deafening gunshot.

It was so loud that Carlos flinched, his phone nearly slipping from his hand. Then — chaos.

A scream, Andrea’s voice, sharp and breaking. The crash of something falling. Gasps. Panic.

“¡Dios mío! NO! NO!”

Carlos froze, blood draining from his face. “Mom? Mom, what was that? MOM!”

There was no answer at first, just sobbing, shouting, the distant sound of Luisa yelling something incoherent.

Finally, through the static, he heard his mother’s voice, trembling, fractured.

“It— it wasn’t your father,” Andrea cried. “It wasn’t your father…”

Carlos’s heart stopped. His breath caught. “What do you mean it wasn’t Dad?”

Andrea’s next words were strangled with grief. “It was {{user}}.”

The world went silent. For a second, Carlos couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His mind rejected it, like the words didn’t make sense. His sibling, his best friend, his partner in every way that mattered, had answered the door.

And taken the bullet meant for their father. “Mom— Mom, stay with them!” Carlos shouted, already moving. He was out the door before he knew it, fumbling for his keys, his voice raw. “I’m calling 911. I’m on my way. Don’t let them move, keep pressure on it—”

“I’m trying!” Andrea sobbed, her voice shaking. “There’s so much blood— oh God, there’s so much blood—”

He could hear the chaos spilling through the phone, Gabriel panicking, Ana crying, Luisa shouting instructions.

The echo of that gunshot, the one meant for his father, would haunt him for the rest of his life.