The covered man slipped into the room, his boots leaving faint tracks of dust from the street. then he exhaled sharply. "Fiuu... The situation in Caracas is grim. Spanish patrols are all over the place. I counted at least five guards heading this way."
Oscar frowned. "Do you think they already know about us? Why else would there be so many soldiers—unless sothing happened." His expression tightened. "Wait... did sothing important happen?"
The agent pushed back his hood, his face drawn and solemn. He nodded. "Yes. The King of France was executed by the republican governnt last month. Our organization learned the news two weeks ago. It seems your savior sent soone to inform his father."
Oscar’s eyes widened. "Francisco? He’s already in Europe? Wait—" He straightened abruptly. "Did you just say the King of France was killed by the republicans?"
The agent looked montarily speechless, then nodded again. "That’s right. Our patron seems to have struck so kind of agreent with your savior’s father—Carlos Góz, I believe."
Oscar nodded slowly. "So we’re allies now. That’s... good." He let out a relieved breath, the heavy air of the room carrying the faint sll of damp wood and distant cooking smoke from the streets.
The agent hesitated. "You have one mission, and after that you should return to Antioquia. You’ll begin working under Carlos."
Oscar frowned, puzzled. "Are the two of them really on such good terms?"
The agent nodded, then shook his head slightly. "The leadership split into two factions last year. One, led by Carlos, wants to push for independence while Spain is tangled in a war with France. The other prefers the status quo, waiting for a ’better mont.’ Our patron sided with Carlos as soon as he could."
Oscar’s expression hardened. "So the independence war is close."
"Closer than you think," the agent said, his voice low. "After the split, most leaders chose the status quo faction. They feared the war might not break out, and then we’d be facing Spain alone. But with King Louis’ death, everything changed. People now see war between Spain and France as inevitable. If King Charles IV does nothing after the republicans executed his own cousin, the Bourbon na will be a laughingstock across Europe."
He paused, glancing toward the shuttered window where distant bells rang from the cathedral.
"But now those sa leaders have a problem. Because they waited, they didn’t prepare. Their n are few, their supplies scarce. And they all know this war will determine the power they’ll hold afterward." He looked back at Oscar. "And that brings us here."
The man walked toward the window and stared out at the buildings visible from San José. Oscar stepped beside him, following his gaze. When he recognized the structure in the distance, he stiffened.
"The royal warehouse?"
The man nodded. "That’s right. Our patron wants to sell information about the warehouse to the other leaders. After all, robbing New Granada or Cartagena is one thing—robbing in Caracas is an entirely different and easier challenge. If you can obtain the full schedule of the guards’ rotations, as well as the thod to open the place, our patron is willing to hand you over completely to Carlos Góz."
Oscar frowned. Sothing felt wrong. He eyed the man with deep suspicion, then glanced behind him at the three won. He had already grown attached to them; they felt like real family. so he knew he what does he had to do after a mont of silence He spoke firmly.
"Fine. But just in case, I’m taking them out of Caracas before the mission. That way, even if I fail, they won’t pay the price."
The man’s expression tightened, clearly displeased. But seeing the sharp suspicion in Oscar’s eyes, he understood that refusing would be dangerous—not only for him but for his master’s plans. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Very well. Prepare the informants you have here. I already have soone ready to take your place. We’ll tell them tomorrow."
Oscar nodded. "Good. I’ll start preparing the plan. We et tomorrow night."
The man hesitated. He had clearly hoped to stay the night, but he sensed he had already pushed Oscar’s trust too far. Better to act normal. He gave a stiff nod and left the inn.
The three won watched Oscar with anxious eyes. Carnsa, especially, spoke in a trembling voice.
"This doesn’t feel right. The way he insisted on getting the informants before the mission... it sounds like they don’t expect you to co back alive. And the look in that man’s eyes—malicious. I think they want to get rid of you."
Oscar nodded and headed toward the stairs, the won following close behind. He paused and looked back at them.
"Pack your things. Now. I’ll see you in the basent in twenty minutes."
The won froze, startled. Rosa spoke first. "What? Why? Shouldn’t we plan how to steal the warehouse information before anything else? Why are you suddenly telling us to pack?"
The younger girl, Sofía, echoed her sister. "That’s right, brother. This is too sudden."
Carnsa looked into Oscar’s eyes and saw the tension there. She exhaled softly, then turned to her daughters. "Do as Oscar says. Pack your things. Now."
The girls exchanged grumpy, worried looks, but they knew their mother’s tone left no room for argunt. They hurried to their rooms, gathering clothes and the bare essentials.
Oscar continued walking, with Carnsa close behind. When they reached his small bedroom, he went straight to the closet. He knelt, pressed a hand against the wooden floorboard, and lifted it. The plank ca loose, revealing a dark opening beneath.
Carnsa’s eyes widened; she had never suspected such a hiding place.
"When you work in this line of business," Oscar said quietly, "you learn to leave stashes everywhere." He reached down and pulled out a heavy pouch. The coins inside clinked faintly. He handed it to her. "With this, you should be able to reach Antioquia. Once there, find the Góz family. Tell them you were trained by —they’ll give you work."
Carnsa frowned, worry plain in her eyes. "So it’s true. You know this is a trap... and you’re planning to walk into it."
Oscar let out a strained breath and moved to the chair by the small desk. He sat, shoulders heavy, and looked around the room as though morizing it. "Yes. This mission is clearly my last. If I succeed, they’ll kill before the Góz family can get hold of a useful asset. If I fail, the Spanish troops will kill . There’s no way out."
Carnsa stepped closer, her voice soft with fear. "Then why don’t we run? With this money, we could find a town far from all this... far from politics and soldiers. We could even join an indigenous tribe and live quietly. Why not choose life?"
Oscar fell silent for a mont, the shadows of the small room flickering over his face. Then he spoke quietly.
"Do you rember how I always say I’m a stizo?"
Carnsa nodded, confused by the sudden shift.
Oscar continued, eyes distant. "Haven’t you ever wondered why? By my face, I could easily pass as a criollo. Yet I still insist on calling myself a stizo."
Carnsa shook her head. She had found it odd before, but never questioned it—she simply thought it was part of his personality.
Oscar gave a faint, bitter smile. "It’s not my personality. Before I beca an agent, I had a good family. A beautiful mother. A father who, at least in public, acted like a gentleman. He’d been a Spanish soldier... ambitious, always hungry for rank."
He paused, staring at the floor as though seeing another ti entirely.
"Our family carried a secret. One I didn’t know until the night everything fell apart. My mother was half Indigenous. My father knew. Pretended it didn’t matter. But his ambitions kept growing, and the local tribes were already subdued. Peaceful. There was no war, no opportunity for him to rise. So he looked... at us."
Oscar’s voice wavered for the first ti. He took a slow breath.
"One night, he ca into our house with a few soldiers. Accused my mother of being a spy for the tribes. They tortured her—right in front of . When I tried to stop them, I begged him: ’Father, why are you doing this to her?’"
Oscar swallowed hard, the mory tightening his throat.
"He looked at with a glare so cold it froze my blood. Even now I still dream of it. he say ’ i dont have a savage as a son ’ That sa night he killed her. Then he dragged out of town, into the forest. And there he said, ’You have the savages’ blood. You should live like one.’ And he left there."
Carnsa’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes. "How can a father treat his own child like that? That man... that man was a monster."
Oscar nodded slowly. "I’ve thought the sa, every day since."
He leaned back, mories pressing on him like stones. "A tribe found —saved . Raised . Taught their ways, their tactics, their language. They were my family. Until..." He stopped, breath trembling. "Until they were wiped out when I was sixteen. I had gone into the nearby town for supplies. When I returned..."
His hands clenched. His voice dropped to a low, raw whisper.
"Every man was dead. The won... broken. Even the infants weren’t spared. The soldiers claid the tribe had rebelled." He shook his head slowly. "But I knew the truth. The pattern was the sa as with my mother. I learned later that my father had staged the ’rebellion’ to justify the slaughter... so he could rise in rank again."
The room felt colder. Outside, faint night sounds drifted in—the murmur of distant voices, the creak of wooden carts rolling over uneven stones.
"That day," Oscar finished, "I decided this country might be better off without the Spanish."
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