The silence reigned as we stood in front of the small, worn house. Luis Miguel shifted, adjusting my bag over his shoulder. "You sure about this place?"
I glanced at the house, at the broken fence and the peeling paint, at the window with its cracked glass.
No.
I wasn't sure about any of this. But what choice did I have? I didn't know Mateo was poor though. He always looked well put together every time we met.
I straightened my shoulders. "Yeah."
He studied me for a moment, his usual arrogance now gone and his expression was now quieter… more serious.
"Alright," he finally said. "Let's go in."
And together, we stepped forward.
I stepped into the dimly lit building, Luis Miguel was at my side as the both of us were wary of our surroundings. The corridor smelled faintly of wood and cheap detergent, the kind used when landlords wanted to pretend they cared about upkeep.
A lone bulb blinked overhead, emitting twitching shadows along the cracked walls.
