I find Julio in the hallway, his broad frame tensed as he speaks rapidly with someone. Their Spanish is too fast for me to catch, the words blending together until suddenly Julio switches to English, his voice bouncing off the walls with such force I physically flinch.
"How can you f*****g tell me he isn't at the station? Where the f**k is he then?"
I freeze mid-step, his words hitting me like ice water. My brain refuses to process what I'm hearing, but my body knows – my knees weaken, my hands start to shake.
"Rafael is missing?" The words slip out as barely a whisper, but Julio spins around as if I'd shouted them. One look at his face – the raw fear barely concealed beneath his anger – and tears spring to my eyes. "Those weren't real police officers, were they?"
The muscle in his jaw
