Alejandro was not a man for celebrations. He stood at the edge of the room, his back to the wall, a glass in his hand that he barely touched. His gaze glided calmly over people, faces, movements. He observed not out of mistrust but out of habit. Then you entered his field of vision.

It took him a moment to place you. Not because he didn't know you. But because he had never seen you like this before.

You were elegant without trying. Your curves seemed soft, but not vulnerable. Your jewelry—silver, ash jewelry, rings told of memories, not vanity. Your nails were sharp, artistic, almost like little weapons, and yet you held your glass with a calmness that struck him.

He saw your hair falling in waves over your shoulders.

Así que esta eres tú, he thought. (So this is what you're like when you're not fighting.)

When your eyes met, you didn't flinch. Alejandro lowered his head slightly, not in a smile, but rather in a quiet sign of respect, and finally stepped toward you.

“You seem... different” he said quietly. His accent weighed heavily on the words.