Maria

When I open my eyes, I stare at the white ceiling. The tick-tock of the old clock on the bedside table seems louder today. I take a deep breath. Through the crack in the window, golden rays of sunlight cut through the room, dancing dust in the air.

For a second, everything seems calm. But only for a second.

"Maria!" My mother's voice echoes from downstairs like thunder. "Get up! You're going to the market with Nena, girl!"

I sigh. Without further ado, I swing my legs off the bed and walk to the bathroom. The cold tile welcomes me, and when I look at myself in the mirror above the sink, there it is. That feeling.

As if death were near, swirling around me like a silent ballerina, waiting for the cue to take me in her arms. Perhaps, when she comes, I'll just say: "Why did you take so long?"

It sounds morbid, I know. Seventeen years old and thoughts like this. But what is more morbid: wanting to die or living a life where you are a ghost of yourself?

I slowly take off my nightgown, turn on the shower... and, of course, the water gets hot for two seconds before freezing.

"Ahhh! Great. Genius, God. Genius." I grumble, shrinking under the icy stream.

The shower ends like a punishment. I come out feeling more awake, but not less empty. I choose any black dress — among so many other black ones that occupy my wardrobe. They suit me. They are discreet. Invisible.

I start to get dressed, calmly, when I hear the yell again coming from downstairs:

"Maria! For the love of God! We have the workshop opening tonight! You know your father hates delays. You don't want to upset him, do you?"

I roll my eyes. Of course. We don't want to upset Daddy. I've been beaten enough to know exactly the tone of voice that precedes the punishment. Another beating? It would just be another mark. Just another reminder that living here comes at a price.

Living for what? This question never leaves me alone.

A soft knock on the door paralyzes me. I swallow hard. Fear is an old acquaintance, and he doesn't even need to knock — he comes in without asking.

But, this time, it's just Nena.

She opens the door slowly, with that look of a mother tired of the world.

"Oh, my dear... don't upset your mother with your father, child. You know... the consequences."

I just nod, my eyes burning, already threatening to overflow.

"I know, Nena. I just... I need to be perfect. Always perfect. Even if, to do that, I need to disappear from myself."

She sighs, approaches, holds my hands firmly and lovingly. As if, for a moment, my heart had somewhere to land.

"Come on, my girl. Let's get some air. It will do you good."

I nod once more and follow her.

This is me: Maria. The girl who walks, but doesn't live. Who exists, but isn't there. Who no one would notice if she disappeared — or died.

Hope? That's just a pretty name for the lie they tell us to keep going. But I know. I see. Death doesn't seem like a bad end to me.

Not for me.

Then I arrive with Nena to the living room. My mother is already there, ready, walking from one side to the other as always, as if she were about to organize the whole world alone. Never stops. Never breathes. Because, in this house, no one has time to sit down and talk for real. Here, everyone wears masks that shine in public and suffocate in silence.

They talk so much about God... but His love? I never felt that living here.

"I'm going, Mom." I say, without any effort to fake enthusiasm.

She turns to me with that sharp look that measures every detail of my posture, my clothes, my tone of voice. Perfection is the least.

"Keep an eye on her, Nena!" she says in a tone louder than necessary. "And you, Maria, don't even think about being funny. Don't talk to any men, understand? No strangers. I don't want to hear about scandals!"

I nod, tightening my lips, but the words escape before I can hold them back:

"Of course, Mom. I'll be invisible as always. Maybe I shouldn't even exist, should I?"

The silence after that weighs.

Nena, always quick to prevent the worst from happening, holds my hand firmly, almost as a silent request: not now, my girl, not now.

"She will be fine, madam. We won't be long in returning." says Nena, gently pulling me towards the door before anything else explodes.

As I cross the threshold, the sun hits my face hard, as if the world outside were trying to prove that it still exists — even if everything inside me is cloudy.

MonteSereno wakes up slowly. The colorful houses hide more secrets than smiles. The market is a few blocks away, and the way there passes through flowered squares, religious murals, and the same people who greet me without ever really looking at me.

As I walk, I feel the squeeze of Nena's hand, and it is the only anchor I have in this sea of silence that screams inside me.

The streets begin to fill with the sounds of the morning. Teen laughter. Hurried steps. Backpacks on their backs, colorful uniforms, eyes shining with those who still believe in freedom.

I observe everything around me as someone watching a movie that they will never be able to live. My eyes follow those young people. Friendships. Dreams. Silly conversations. Love maybe. And, suddenly, something inside me breaks with a dull crack. A pain so silent that almost no one would notice — but that devours me.

I will never know what that is.

I will never know what it's like to sit on a school bench and tell someone a secret. Laugh out loud without thinking about the consequences. To be... simply to be.

But who am I?

The truth? I don't even know anymore.

"I can't take it anymore, Nena..." I whisper, my voice trembling, unable to hide the tears that now fall, hot and desperate.

I feel my hand slipping from hers, slowly, as if my will to stay here were slipping away with it.

Nena looks at me with teary eyes, trying to hold on to the strength that still remains in me.

"You can take it. Yes, you can, daughter. You are strong. You always have been..."

I swallow hard. But no... I'm not.

"I'm not, Nena..." I say between sobs. "I'm tired. Tired of pretending. Of trying to be perfect. Of living only to please. Of not being able to make mistakes. Perfect, Nena... always perfect... I can't take it anymore. I can't take it..."

I take a step forward, blinded by tears, by despair — and then I hear.

BRAKES!

A car. A scream. The thud of my body on the ground. The throbbing pain in my leg. The shock that paralyzes me. The adrenaline takes over. My eyes blink rapidly trying to understand what happened.

I hear muffled voices, as if they were coming from underwater.

"Hey?! Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Hey, girl?! Are you listening to us?"

Two faces appear before me. One framed by messy brown hair, wearing a dark leather jacket, intense eyes. The other in a suit, sober, with gray eyes as cold as dawn.

They seem worried... but it's hard to hear. My breathing is uneven.

That's when my eyes cross the street — and I freeze.

There he is.

My father.

Immobile. Arms crossed. Small hat aligned. His gaze fixed on me like blades. A silent judgment that I know all too well.

The cold runs down my spine. I know what that look means. I know.

I turn again to the two young men in front of me. I get up in a start, even with the pain, trying to regain control.

Nena is already by my side, her presence like a shield. She comes forward:

"She's fine, young men. Don't worry, it was just a scare."

I try to breathe, but the air doesn't come in right. Nena pulls me carefully by the hand, and we follow. But before taking another step, I look to the other side of the street.

My father is still there. Statue. Fixed gaze. Marked sentence.

Then, I turn discreetly back. The two young men are still watching me. And in this second when our eyes meet, I shout internally:

"Help me."

The one in the jacket feels it. I know he feels it.

He looks at my father, as if he could smell the danger. Then, his eyes return to me — attentive, dark, almost wild.

My hair moves with the cold breeze. And at that moment, something inside me whispers:

They are not ordinary.

But there is no more time to think. The pain in my leg throbs. The heart races. And the certainty comes cruel:

What awaits me at home... is worse than any accident.

Kael

My heart beats like a war drum. My breath is heavy, my muscles tense. Instinct, that damn instinct... it roars inside me. But I'm not alone in this.

I glance to the side. Dylan is also still, eyes fixed in the same direction as mine. His jaw clenched, his fists tight. He feels it too.

"A mate..." we whisper at the same time. The word comes out raw, ancestral. It's a recognition stronger than reason. Almost sacred.

The girl with broken eyes and a fractured soul turns a corner with the slow-moving lady. The warmth emanating from her still vibrates in me.

At that moment, some random kid passes by us. Skinny, crooked glasses, backpack slung over one shoulder. And I act.

Before logic can speak louder, I grab the kid by the collar. He widens his eyes and lets out a muffled sound of terror. His smell is pure fear.

"Kael," Dylan growls beside me, his voice low, firm. "What do you think you're doing?"

I ignore him.

My head turns towards the corner where the girl is almost disappearing. I point with my chin.

"That one. Who is she? Speak."

The boy blinks, swallows hard. His glasses almost fall off.

"T-that... is Maria, sir. But I don't know her well... just by sight."

Dylan moves slightly, a step forward. Smooth, elegant, but the tension is visible in his expression, as he asks:

"How do you not know her? You seem to be the same age. Doesn't she study with you?"

The boy shakes his head, his collar still caught in my hand.

"We do, but... she never studied at school with us. Almost no one knows anything about her. Only that she's the mayor's daughter. And..."

He hesitates. He's sweating. His eyes beg me to let go.

"And...?" I encourage, with a slight tightening of my fingers.

"And... some people say that she isn't even human. That her parents hide her because she is... different. Some say they've heard screams in her house. But nobody knows if it's true. Just rumors... just rumors."

I release him slowly. The boy staggers a little, adjusts his shirt, without looking into our eyes.

"I need to go," he says quickly, almost tripping over his own feet as he walks away. "If I miss the first class, my father will kill me..."

And there he goes. Running, looking back, as if he had crossed the path of two predators. And he actually did.

But I don't see him anymore. All that remains is a name burning in the back of my mind, engraved with blood and instinct:

Maria.

Then, after this strange and powerful moment – as if the world had stopped for a second – we both get back in the car. The silence between me and Dylan is dense, almost electric.

I can still feel her trail in the air... as if her presence had marked the ground where she passed.

I close the door with a dry click, and even before the engine roars, my brother, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, lets the words escape:

"She's mine, Kael."

It's not a doubt. It's a statement. A warning.

I slowly turn my face to him. The weight of his words draws a crooked, slow smile from me. I lean my body slightly towards him and let my voice come out hoarse, full of certainty:

"Yours? Ah, dear brother... She is mine."

My eyes get lost for a second on the sidewalk where she disappeared. The echo of her name still hammers in my mind.

"The connection happened the moment my eyes met hers. It was like... ancient fire rekindling. And you can bet, Dylan – I'm not going to give up."

He laughs. A dry, sharp laugh, full of that typical arrogance of his, as if he knew exactly the game that is starting. He pulls away with the car firmly and throws:

"I know you won't give up. But neither will I. So... we share the same mate, brother."

The words hover in the air between us. They are dangerous. They carry omens.

I let out a long sigh, running my hand through my hair, trying to calm the turmoil inside me. The desire. The call of instinct. But also... the warning.

"You are not a problem, Dylan," I say, seriously. "The problem... The real problem I felt when I looked at that man standing across the street. The way he looked at her... Cold, suffocating, as if he were a jailer. Could he be that mayor? Her father?"

Dylan keeps his eyes on the road, but his jaw tightens. The sunlight floods the car through the windows, gilding the dashboard and painting shadows on the edges of his face.

"I don't know," he replies, his voice low. "But if he is, we'll find out soon. The mayor of this little town confirmed his presence at the opening of our workshop tonight."

I nod in silence. The engine purrs, and the road ahead seems to open up. Tonight... the eyes of the city will be on us. But my eyes... will be on her.

The silence that arises inside the car is almost meditative, as if we were both digesting the impact of Maria. Her scent still seems impregnated in the air. But then, as always, Dylan is the first to break the mood:

"Just don't get ahead of yourself, Kael."

His voice comes firm, low, but full of concern. I turn to him with a raised eyebrow, but let him continue:

"You are impulsive. You always have been. And you know we need to keep our true identity hidden. Our father gave us carte blanche to explore this territory, but without causing a stir. And another... –" he pauses briefly, as if weighing the weight of what he's going to say. "I don't mind sharing the same mate with you. Of course... that is, if she accepts us."

He lets out a light sigh and continues, now with his eyes fixed on the path ahead:

"But keep your head in place. We need to better understand this city before any move. Maria may have been a shock to us, but... this whole place exudes something strange. There's tension in the air. And you felt it too. I know you felt it."

I smile slowly, almost savoring his concern. I stretch my legs in the car's space, relaxing, and put on my sunglasses before responding with a light mockery in my voice:

"Relax, Dylan. You think I'm stupid, don't you? And... speaking of father, you're starting to talk just like him. Maybe it's the age."

He rolls his eyes with a half smile and brakes smoothly at the red light, the sun painting orange reflections on his impeccable suit.

"Well..." he says, briefly. "The way you grabbed that skinny kid in the middle of the street didn't seem very 'smart'."

I take one of my hands to the nape of my neck, scratching lightly as if I were thinking, and give a slight smile from the corner of my mouth, mischievous:

"Oh, please... I was just collecting information about the territory there. You yourself said: we need to know the place. I was doing what any good exploring wolf would do. And, let's face it, it worked. Now we know who the girl is, and that nobody knows almost anything about her."

Dylan shakes his head, fighting against a smile. But I don't stop:

"And about her accepting us... Well, there I agree with you in part."

I turn slightly in his direction, lowering my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, letting him see my direct, confident look.

"It's easier for her to reject you than me. After all, let's be honest... I'm more handsome. More stylish too. We have to recognize the facts, brother."

Dylan lets out a dry laugh, stomping on the accelerator when the light opens. The city passes us by like a blur, but something changes. Something vibrates in the air.

He then stares at me out of the corner of his eye, with that challenging smile on his face:

"Let's see then, Kael. Let's see which wolf she will choose first."

And I just think: Maria... you don't even imagine what awaits you.

Maria

It's been a few minutes since Nena and I got back from the market. The bags are still on the kitchen table, forgotten, while I'm here in my room, pacing back and forth like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.

My father hasn't arrived yet.

But the waiting... the waiting is always worse. Because when you know what's coming, every second turns into torment. It's like walking towards the abyss, aware that you're going to fall.

And then, the sound. The living room door bursts open with a thud that echoes through the house like thunder. My heart races. The screams come soon after—his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

His steps... heavy, firm, determined. He's coming.

My feet retreat instinctively, stumble, and I fall back onto the floor.

The door to my room opens violently. And there he is. Emiliano. My father.

But what scares me the most is not the bloodshot eyes of anger or the clenched teeth. It's what he holds in his hands: a piece of folded rope, thick, stained. Already used before.

"Who were those men, Maria?!" he roars, like a beast.

"I... I don't know, father. I swear I don't know!" I reply, already crying, my voice choked with pain and panic.

He advances.

"Then let's see if this helps you remember!" he snarls, raising his arm.

Behind him, Nena appears hurriedly, along with my mother, both desperate.

"No, sir! Please! It was just an accident, a misunderstanding! The girl did nothing!" Nena pleads, her voice choked.

But he doesn't hear. He never listens.

The arm comes down.

The first blow is dry, like a cut in time. The pain comes quickly, burning, the rope cracking against my skin like hot iron.

I scream. I put my arms in front of my face, I shrink as much as I can.

"HELP! Father, please! I didn't do anything! I swear!"

"Now you ask for help?!" he shouts, his eyes on fire. "Ask! Ask all you want! No one will hear you! I am the law in this house! I am the authority here!"

"Emiliano, the neighbors... for God's sake, stop!" my mother tries, in vain.

He doesn't stop. He only stops when fatigue or fury dissipate for a brief moment.

Finally, he throws the rope on the floor with disdain, his chest heaving. He looks at me as if I were a broken piece of furniture.

"No one helps her. Get out. Now."

My mother hesitates. Nena gives me one last look—eyes watery, helpless—and both leave the room.

He approaches, looks down at me, fallen on the floor, and spits:

"Be ready at seven. Our family has a reputation. I don't want any embarrassment at the workshop's opening."

And then he leaves, with the same fury with which he entered.

Silence returns, but now it weighs even more. I stay here, motionless, staring at the ceiling of my room as I did this morning.

But now everything burns. Every inch of my body burns. Every beat of my heart seems like a reminder that I'm still alive.

And sometimes, that hurts more than any blow.