The sea breathed slowly, deeply, like a sleeping animal.
Leo had been driving for hours, his hands rigid on the steering wheel, fingers tapping absently against the worn leather.
Beside him, Clara stared out the window, watching the coastline glide past in fragments of moonlight and shadow.
"Are you sure about what you heard?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.
Leo nodded, his gaze fixed on the road.
"An unnamed yacht, black flag, left the port of Almería two nights ago. It's the best lead we've got."
"And if it's a mistake?"
"Then we lose a few hours. But I can't ignore it."
His voice was low, steady, but Clara could hear the tension behind it, the anger, the guilt, the fear.
Every word seemed to cost him something.
They reached an abandoned bay.
The moon sliced the horizon in half, and the wind carried the taste of salt and rust.
Leo turned off the headlights and got out first, scanning the darkness.
Clara followed, pulling her jacket tight.
The silence was thick, pressing against her chest until she could hear her own heartbeat.
When she tripped on a hidden root, Leo caught her wrist before she could fall.
"Careful," he said.
His fingers lingered for an instant: warm, firm, steady.
Clara froze, then pulled her hand back gently.
"Thanks," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.
They moved forward between the rusted containers and broken nets.
Leo's flashlight carved pale circles into the fog. Clara walked close behind him, close enough to catch the faint scent of rain and metal, something that made her feel, inexplicably, safer.
"Leo," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Promise me you won't do anything reckless."
He turned toward her. The light hit her face, making her eyes shine like glass under the drizzle.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"I promise I'll bring her home," he said quietly.
It was a promise that sounded like a confession, and a lie.
Then a sound broke the air behind them.
A faint scrape, a breath, a shadow detaching from the dark.
Leo stepped forward. The man lunged.
The blade missed him by inches, tearing his jacket.
Leo struck back, grabbed the attacker's wrist, a sharp crack, then the knife hit the ground.
In seconds the man was pinned down, Leo's flashlight glaring in his face.
"Where's the yacht?" Leo growled.
The man coughed, spat, and laughed hoarsely.
"Too late. You'll never reach her in time."
Leo tightened his grip, but Clara moved in and caught his arm.
"Leo, stop. Please."
Her touch froze him more than the rain.
Her fingers were cold, yet steady, anchoring him to something human again.
He looked at her, and for one suspended heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
No words, no intentions, just the faint awareness that without even realizing it, they were holding each other up against the dark.
Leo dropped his arm, the tension still pulsing in his veins.
"We're taking him with us," he said.
Clara nodded, pushing a strand of wet hair from her face.
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we deal with it."
They lifted the man together, dragging him toward the car.
When Clara bent down to grab the flashlight, her hand brushed Leo's, a brief, electric contact that neither acknowledged.
Then came the rain.
Heavy, relentless, blurring everything into silver and shadow.
Back in the car, silence swallowed them again. Only the rain spoke, drumming on the windshield.
After a long time, Clara whispered, "Do you ever think that the ones we try to save… might be the ones who destroy us?"
Leo's eyes stayed on the road, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
"Every day," he said at last.
And the storm drowned out everything else.