The floorboards outside groaned under a heavy wayen , familiar stride

The beam of the flashlight cut through the darkness again, sweeping lazily across the rotting boxes. The light flickered closer and closer to my hiding spot.

“Diego…” a voice called out into the shadows.

It was distorted by the echoes of the warehouse, muffled by the steam, making it impossible to tell who it belonged to. Was it the ragged, exhausted breath of my uncle Ramiro? Or was it the cold, murderous tone of Arthur?

“Diego, come out,” the voice called again, closer this time. The footsteps stopped just on the other side of the machine I was crouching behind. “It’s over now. Let’s go home.”

A shadow stretched over the top of the tarp above me. I looked down at the folder in my hands, then up at the edge of the machine. A hand reached out, gripping the side of the metal structure, just inches from my head.

The flashlight beam snapped directly onto my face.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3…

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