The day had come. I stood at the door of my house, the weight of everything I was about to leave pressing on my chest. The decision to return to the department had been made. The case was waiting, and I could not afford to back out now. But as I glanced over at Amara, holding Israel's small hand, I felt a sting in my heart that I couldn't shake.
Israel had just woken up, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but when she saw me, her face lit up in a bright, innocent smile. "Papa," she mumbled, her tiny voice barely above a whisper.
I bent down and picked her up, holding her close. "I'll be back soon, mi amor," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, squeezing tightly, as if she knew something was about to change.
Amara stood beside me, her eyes full of concern, trying to keep a brave face, though the worry in her gaze was impossible to miss.
"Santiago..." she began softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "I wish you didn't have to go back. But I know you feel like you have to do this."
I nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat. "I don't want to leave you, Amara. But this is bigger than me. I have to see it through. I'll be back for you. For both of you."
She didn't speak, but she placed her hand on mine, squeezing it tightly. The unspoken words between us were enough. We both knew how much this would cost us.
I kissed Israel one last time, the small whimper of her voice staying with me as I placed her back down and stood up. Amara and I locked eyes for a moment longer before I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I knew it was the right thing to do, but the ache in my chest as I left them behind would linger for days.
The drive to the courthouse felt like a blur. My mind was racing. What would the department look like now? What would my new life entail? Was I really ready for this again? For the endless hours, the danger, and the corruption that was still lurking in the shadows?
When I arrived, I was met by Judge Vega, who stood waiting for me just outside the courtroom.
"Santiago, I'm glad to see you again," he said, his face unreadable but his tone firm. "You'll be working with someone new. A forensic specialist who will be your partner for this case."
I nodded. "I'm ready for whatever it takes."
Inside the department, I was introduced to Emma, my new partner. She was younger than I expected, with dark hair tied back in a tight ponytail and eyes that seemed to see straight through me. Her confidence was apparent, but there was something in her expression that made it clear she had seen more than her fair share of tragedy.
"Santiago," she greeted, her voice calm, though it held a sense of urgency. "I've heard about you. Let's get to work."
We were handed our first case together just hours after meeting. Two young adults, barely out of their teens, were found dead in an abandoned building. At first glance, it seemed like another overdose, but there was something about it that didn't sit right with me.
As I stepped into the morgue with Emma by my side, the sight of the bodies chilled me to the bone. The young man and woman were lying side by side on the cold metal tables, their skin pale, their eyes wide open as though they had seen something terrible before they died.
Emma examined the bodies silently as I turned my attention to the necks of the victims. Both had clear, deep bruising marks around their throats. The marks were consistent with strangulation—this wasn't a random overdose. These were murders.
"I don't think this was an overdose," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the injuries.
Emma frowned, leaning closer to inspect. "No, definitely not. These marks... they're too deliberate."
I felt a chill run down my spine. This wasn't just a case—it was a message. Someone wanted these deaths to be known.
After examining the scene, Emma and I left the morgue together, the weight of the case settling heavily on both of us. But there was no time for hesitation. This was only the beginning.
Later that afternoon, Judge Vega called me into his office. He handed me a thick file, its contents sealed with a red stamp.
"This," he said gravely, "might help you get closer to the truth of the corruption we've been fighting. I'm trusting you with this, Santiago. But be careful. This information... it's not just dangerous. It's lethal."
I took the file from his hands, feeling the weight of it, both physically and metaphorically. What was inside? What could be so important that the judge himself felt the need to hand it to me?
I opened the file to find a collection of documents—notes, photographs, and witness testimonies—all pointing toward a shadowy network of powerful individuals involved in criminal activities. Corruption at the highest levels. It seemed that some of the same people involved in the earlier case were now connected to these murders.
"This is bigger than anything I imagined," I said quietly, more to myself than to the judge.
"You're right," Vega replied. "But the fight isn't over. You've already made your mark, Santiago. Now, it's time to finish what you started."
As I walked back to my office, the weight of the file in my hand, my mind was spinning. Two young lives had been taken, and I had just uncovered a thread that could unravel everything. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. But with each new discovery, the danger grew.
I had once been forced out. Now, I was being called back in. And I knew one thing for sure: There was no turning back. The corruption I had once exposed was only the surface. What lay beneath it was much darker—and I was about to dive headfirst into the heart of it.
But as I looked at the file in my hands, I couldn't shake the thought of Amara and Israel. What would this case cost me? Would I lose them again, this time for good?