Ana peeks her head outside the door to make sure there are no curious eyes about. She turns to me and nods before slipping through the door, trusting that I will follow. And I do. The hallway is dark, barely lit by the fading torchlight on the walls. It’s just enough for the servants to find their way through the villa’s corridors as their nightly routines draw to an end.

But the dark doesn’t bother me. I could navigate any part of my home blindfolded. I know every step, every corner, every doorway and dead end. Every statue and alcove.

Memory twists at the muscles of my heart as we tiptoe past Alejandro’s door, closed once again.

I pause a few steps beyond the door. “Wait.”

Ana shoots me a quizzical look.

“There’s something I need.”

Her eyes drift from mine to the closed door. The corners of her lips twitch downward, as if words were tickled at her tongue to get out. She wants to say something to make me not do whatever it is I’m about to do. I cannot blame her. I was crazed earlier. I thrust my hand into a fire, for God’s sake. But having a plan of action has given me a sense of clarity I had briefly lost. I have a mission. I am more than my despair. But Ana says nothing. She only nods, short and sharp.

The door swings open under my hand. The air is stifling inside.

Ana stays at the threshold, just outside the room. Waiting for me. Keeping watch.

His clothes are still strewn on the bench at the foot of his bed. A wild urge strikes me so suddenly it nearly knocks me off my feet. I want to pick up that pile of clothes and hug it.

Stop it. I cannot allow myself to go there now. My mission. Our mission.

That is where my thoughts must lie for now.

I trail my fingers along the desk’s edge. It’s bare, the polished wood gleaming in the faint moonlight drifting through the window.

“I came back,” Ana says quietly from the doorway. “After we talked to Don Carlos. I took the rest of the papers and hid them. They’re safe. I don’t know if they’re helpful or not but—I got them.”

The tension in my chest releases, just a bit but enough for me to breathe.

“Thank you,” I offer her.

She nods again.

I find what I’m looking for in the second drawer from the bottom. A sad smile touches my lips as I hold up my prize. The ornate silver barrel of the flintlock pistol gleams beautifully in the moonlight. It’s a work of art, truly. The ebony handle fits my palm like it was always meant to be there.