I remember the smell of red carnations, the way they swayed in the breeze outside Nina’s window. That was home. Now, I’m back in this dusty hell — Casa del Toro — surrounded by bulls who either hate me or don’t understand me. Valiente still sneers, Guapo still trembles, and Bones watches me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve.

I tried to run. I made it to the fence, but the horses stopped me — Klaus, Greta, Hans, moving like shadows. Now, I’m trapped. Tomorrow, El Primero arrives. One bull will be chosen. The rest? Slaughtered.

Lupe says I have to fight. Not to kill — to survive. But every time I think of charging, I see Nina’s face. I see the flowers. I feel the weight of what I am — and what I refuse to be.

The others are training. Valiente mocks me. Guapo avoids my eyes. I know what’s coming. I just don’t know what I’ll do when the gate opens.