Page 19 of Rescuing Mia

I spot another vendor, this one selling hats of all shapes and sizes. I push through the crowd, making my way over, my eyes scanning the selection.

“How much?”

The vendor smiles, holding out the cap. “700 pesos. Good quality. Last you long time.”

“One hundred. No more.” Once again, I hand over the cash,taking the hat and tucking my long black hair up underneath it before he can come back at me.

I fade back into the street, blending back into the bustling crowd. The night’s energy is electric, the air filled with the pulsing beat of music and the laughter of revelers. But despite the festive atmosphere, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back, of danger lurking just out of sight.

Suddenly, I spot a vendor selling an array of colorful swim shorts, bikinis, sundresses, and light, flowing shirts and trousers. Its local vibe will help me blend in even more, to become just another face in the crowd. Not to mention, I have nothing more than the shirt on my back.

I make my way over to the vendor, my eyes already fixed on a sundress, a bikini for undergarments, and a matching set of long-sleeved shirts and trousers in flowing fabric.

“Magkano?” I ask, pointing to the jacket. How much?

The vendor eyes me up and down, a shrewd look on his face. “2,000 pesos. Good quality, imported from the States.”

I don’t have that much. Reaching into my pocket, my fingers curl around the last of my cash. “Too much. Two—hundred. That’s all I have.” It’s the truth, and he sees it in my face.

The vendor hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay, okay. Two hundred it is.”

I hand over the cash and grab the clothes, shoving them into my backpack.

I turn back to the crowd, letting myself be swept up in the flow of bodies. The music pounds in my ears, the bass thumping in time with my racing heart. I move with the rhythm, my feet carrying me down the street.

As I walk, I keep my head down, hiding my face behind the high collar of my jacket and the dark lenses of my sunglasses.

I’m just another face in the crowd, anonymous and invisible.

At least, that’s what I hope.

But even as I try to lose myself in the sea of strangers, my mind keeps drifting back to the alley, to the sound of the gunshot and the sight of Agent Torres falling to the ground.

The memory is like a raw and aching wound, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

I blink them away, forcing myself to focus on the present. I can’t afford to fall apart now, not when so much is at stake.

I let the crowd carry me onward, my feet moving on autopilot as my mind races with questions and fears.

Where do I go now?

Who can I trust?

How do I finish what Agent Torres started?

As the night wears on, the once lively crowd thins, revelers heading home or off to continue their celebrations elsewhere. The streets, which had seemed so full of life and energy just hours before, now feel eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional shout or burst of laughter.

I shiver despite the lingering heat of the night. Exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs, making each step feel like a monumental effort. My mind is foggy with fatigue, the night’s events blurring together into a surreal, nightmarish haze.

But I can’t stop.

I can’t rest.

Not yet.

Not until I find somewhere safe, somewhere to hide and gather my thoughts.

I keep moving, my gaze darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of danger.