11:47 PM“My father was kissing another woman?”Vivian's words fell into the room like a stone dropped into still water. Lara stared at her from the other side of the bed, the wineglass frozen halfway to her lips. For several seconds, neither cousin spoke.Outside the apartment, the city had settled into the deep quiet of midnight. The occasional headlights of a passing vehicle swept across the curtains, briefly illuminating the room before disappearing. A bedside lamp cast a warm amber glow over the scattered pillows, two half-empty wine glasses and the silver handbag Vivian had dropped beside the bed earlier.Lara slowly lowered her glass. “I know.” Vivian shook her head.“No. You don't understand. My father is supposed to be in Istanbul.”“And I know that too.” “You saw him.”“I saw him very clearly.”Lara leaned against the headboard, pulling one leg beneath her. The memory was still fresh enough to make her stomach tighten. She had been walking toward the elevator earlier that e

MONTIEL TOWN8:10 AMThe spoon slipped from Ariana's fingers and struck the metal basin with a sharp clatter. She paused. For a few seconds, the only sounds in the kitchen were the faint ticking of the wall clock and the soft rattling of leaves outside the window. Then she bent down, picked up the spoon and continued washing. Her hands moved automatically. Her mind was somewhere else. Coach Edward. The words from the team's WhatsApp group had refused to leave her head since yesterday.‘COACH EDWARD HAS BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH LEUKEMIA.’Ariana had read the message several times before she could even understand what she was looking at. Maria had been beside her then, the phone trembling slightly in her hand. Neither girl had spoken. Their earlier laughter had disappeared so completely that the room itself had seemed to become unfamiliar.Coach Edward had been more than a coach. He had been the man who stayed behind after training to correct their mistakes. The man who made them run another

MONTIEL TOWN PARK5:08 PMFor several seconds, Ariana could do nothing but stare. The bottle remained stretched toward her, its clear plastic catching the last warm rays of the afternoon sun. She looked at it. Then at the stranger holding it. Then back at the bottle. It was an energy drink. Nothing more. Yet the circumstances made it feel like something far more mysterious. The man's breathing was calm. His posture carried none of the aggression she had imagined during that first startled second. He was dressed simply, though neatly, with a small messenger bag resting against his side. Ariana's fingers remained close to her chest. “Who are you?” The man lowered the bottle slightly. “My name is Joel.” Ariana didn't relax. Joel noticed.“I work for Jonas.” The name changed something in her expression. “Jonas?” He nodded. “Jonas Dawson.” Ariana's shoulders dropped by a fraction. Joel offered the bottle again. “He asked me to check on you.” Ariana stared at the sealed drink. “He couldn't

The morning seemed to have found its smile again. Ariana sat by the window of the cab, her forehead almost touching the cool glass as Montiel Town slipped past in a blur of roadside stalls, school uniforms, motorcycles, morning vendors and buses coughing their way through the growing traffic. Beside her, Maria was talking. Talking so much that Ariana had already stopped trying to keep up. She smiled quietly. Her thoughts had travelled back to the morning. Only a few hours earlier, she had practically flown up the staircase toward Maria's balcony after receiving the message.The moment she had seen her friend, she had wrapped her arms around her. Maria had laughed so hard that the injured foot had nearly made her lose balance. The breakfast that followed had been louder than usual. Hope had returned to the house. The team had good news. Real news. The kind of news that could change the atmosphere of an entire dressing room. Ariana remembered her mother's reaction when Maria's message a

The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent behind the rooftops of Montiel Town, turning the glass windows of the buildings across the street into scattered pieces of fire. From the balcony above the barbershop, the town looked strangely peaceful. Cars moved along the road in restless streams. A motorcycle coughed somewhere near the junction. A vendor pushed a small cart beneath the shade of an aging tree, calling out to passing customers. From inside the barbershop came the faint hum of an electric clipper, followed by the occasional murmur of a customer.Johnson sat on the edge of the balcony wall with his elbows resting on his knees. His white barber's apron was folded beside him. A few strands of freshly cut hair still clung stubbornly to his black shirt despite his earlier attempt to brush them away. He exhaled. “Three more heads,” he muttered. George Benson, sitting beside him, laughed. “You say that every time.” “And every time, three more people walk through that door.” “That