The nights always smelled of gunpowder and expensive whiskey. Between Alejandro and Diego, she was the shadow slipping from bed to bed, from side to side. A whisper in the ear was enough to steal secrets; a brush of her lips, and they spilled more than promises.

With Alejandro, everything was brutality: his hands gripped her waist as if claiming her entirely, as if her body were conquered territory. With Diego, it was different: he played with her mind, made her speak of things she didn't even want to remember, and dressed her in silk only to rip it away in a single motion. Two worlds, two masters... and her, believing she could dance between them without getting stained.

She passed information like someone playing with fire: Alejandro's movements at the border, Diego's attack plans in the city. She delighted in watching them hurt each other, never knowing the dagger came from her own tongue.

Until one night, the lights went out before she could even get dressed. The door slammed shut.

Alejandro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze that of a starving wolf. Beside him, Diego lit a cigarette, the flame barely illuminating his crooked smile.

—"Well, look at that," Diego said, exhaling smoke. "Playing both sides." —"You thought you could make fools of us," Alejandro spat, stepping toward her as if to devour her whole—

The heat drained from her body all at once. Blood pounded in her ears. There were no separate beds anymore, no rival sides: only two men holding the truth in their hands, staring at her like she was the prize.