The dawn came gray, as if the sky itself was hesitant.
Andrés was no longer Andrés.
It was Alejandro Rivas.
He sat in front of the wooden house as the sun barely illuminated the damp fields. Laura emerged with a cup of coffee in her hands and knew, even before he spoke, that something had changed. It wasn’t his posture. It wasn’t his simple clothes. It was his gaze. She was no longer lost.
“I remember everything,” he said quietly.
