Page 18 of Rescuing Mia

I turn on the faucet, the sound of running water unnaturally loud in the quiet of the restroom. Cupping my hands under the stream, I splash my face, watching as the water in the sink turns pink with blood.

I scrub at my skin until it feels raw, desperate to wash away the evidence of what happened, but no matter how hard I scrub, I can’t erase the memory.

Can’t unsee the sight of Agent Torres lying in a pool of his own blood.

Once my face is clean, I turn my attention to my clothing. The dark fabric hides the worst of the stains, but I can still feel the sticky wetness where Torres’s blood soaked through.

I do my best to clean it off, using damp paper towels to blot at the stains. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.

As I work, my mind races, trying to process what happened and what to do next. I can’t go to the U.S. Embassy. I don’t know where it is. I don’t have a phone. I can’t ask for directions because I don’t trust anyone. And I don’t dare get in a taxi.

I’m on my own, utterly and completely…

Alone.

The thought is terrifying and liberating in equal measure.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and look at my reflection once more. The woman looking back is still scared, still reeling, but there’s a determination in her eyes.

Resolve.

I have to keep moving. I have to find a way out of this.

With that thought in mind, I unlock the door and step out of the restroom. The shop is still empty, the silence almost eerie after the chaos of the streets.

I make my way to the front of the store, pausing at the door. Through the glass, the crowd still surges past, oblivious to the drama that just played out a few streets over.

I hesitate for a moment, my hand lingering on the door handle. Once I step out there, there’s no going back. I’ll be exposed, vulnerable.

But I can’t stay here. I have to keep moving.

I take a deep breath, step outside, square my shoulders, and let the crowd carry me forward. The crowd’s energy is palpable, and the air is filled with laughter, music, and the sizzle of street food.

People dance in the streets, their bodies moving to the rhythm of the lively music pumping from speakers on every corner. Their vibrant clothing blurs together into a kaleidoscope of joy and celebration.

As I move with the throng, my mind races, trying to processwhat happened. Agent Torres’s face flashes before my eyes, his expression frozen in that final moment of shock and pain. The memory of the gunshot echoes in my ears, drowning out the festive sounds around me.

My heart pounds. My eyes dart from face to face. Every shadow holds a threat. Every stranger is a potential enemy. I feel the assassin’s gaze on my back and quicken my pace, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Sunglasses! Get your sunglasses here!” a vendor calls out, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. “Protect your eyes from the sun and look stylish doing it!”

It’s night, but he doesn’t care.

I veer toward the vendor, an idea forming in my mind. I need to blend in, to become just another face in the crowd. And what better way to do that than to conceal my identity?

“How much?” I ask, pointing to a pair of heavy, dark frames.

The vendor grins, sensing a sale. “For you, my friend? A special price. Only 500 pesos.”

“One hundred. No more.” I dig into my pocket for cash, shoving it into his hands before he can come back at me, haggling.

The vendor doesn’t even blink. He hands me the sunglasses, and I slip them on, the world turning a shade darker.

It’s a small relief to know that my eyes, at least, are hidden from view.

“Salamat,” I say, thanking the vendor in Tagalog.

I turn back to the crowd, my mind still racing. The sunglasses are a start, but I need more. I need to change my appearance and become someone else entirely.