CHAPTER 2: "Too Close for Comfort""Do you always slam cabinet doors like you're mad at life?" Mateo asked as he entered the agency break room, eyebrows raised and coffee mug in hand.Camila didn't even glance at him.
"Do you always appear like an unwanted pop-up ad?"Mateo smirked. "Wow, someone skipped her morning nap."She rolled her eyes and continued digging through the fridge, grumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "blue-eyed jerk."He leaned casually against the counter, watching her with amused interest.
"You know, for someone who's barely five feet, you're really aggressive.""I'm five-four," she snapped, turning around."That's cute," he said with a mock-serious nod. "Like a violent garden gnome."Camila raised a spoon in warning.
"Say one more word and I'll dent your perfect detective face."
He held up his hands in surrender. "Easy there, Smurfette."Camila groaned and stormed out of the break room, nearly bumping into her best friend in the hallway."Hey! Whoa—watch the coffee!" said Isla Rivera, laughing as she steadied both herself and her double-shot iced latte.
Isla had been Camila's best friend since college and was the complete opposite of her—sunny, overly positive, and somehow always fashionably late.
"You okay?" Isla asked, glancing over Camila's shoulder at Mateo.
"Is he still breathing?""Unfortunately," Camila muttered."Hi, Mateo," Isla chirped sweetly."Hey Isla," Mateo called with a charming grin. "Tell your friend she needs a stool for interrogations."Camila shot him a glare so deadly, it could've peeled paint.Isla covered a laugh behind her hand. "I swear, the tension between you two could power a city."Camila brushed past her. "Yeah, a city built on annoyance."
--Later That Afternoon – Field WorkThey were parked outside a dull grey building in Queens, waiting for a possible lead on the Emily case to show up.
Someone had called the agency, anonymously, claiming to have seen her entering this very building two nights ago.Camila was in the driver's seat, watching the entrance like a hawk.Mateo was in the passenger seat… eating chips."Could you not crunch like a cement truck?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"You want some?" he offered, holding out the bag.She swatted it away. "We're on a stakeout.""And I'm fueling the mission."She sighed, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. "Why do I feel like babysitting you should count as community service?"Mateo leaned closer. "Because deep down… you love it."She gave him a sideways glance. "I would love it if you jumped out of this car."He laughed.
"Careful, Wilson. That almost sounded like flirting."Before she could respond, her phone vibrated. It was Isla.Isla: "Hey… you need to get back to the office. Someone dropped off a file. No return info. Just... weird stuff inside. Old pictures. Like really old. I don't like it."
Camila read the message silently, her stomach tightening.Mateo noticed the change in her face. "What's wrong?"She passed him the phone.His expression turned serious in seconds."We're going," she said, starting the car.
---Back at the Agency – 4:17 PMThe file was thick and brown, no markings, no address.
Isla stood by the desk, arms crossed, visibly shaken.Camila opened the file slowly.Dozens of old photographs spilled out.Black-and-white. Grainy.At first glance, they seemed random. Street shots. Alleys. Faces half-captured.And then—Camila picked up a photo and froze.Her fingers went cold.It was her.A photo of her walking through a crowded market. Taken from a distance. Not recently.This was at least two years old.Mateo stepped beside her. "That's...""There's more," Isla whispered.Camila flipped through them.More photos. More of her. Different years. Different cities.Always unaware. Always being watched.Then, the last picture.It was blurry, taken through glass.Mateo was in it too.The two of them, standing beside each other in front of the agency.On the back of the photo, scribbled in red ink:"You're not safe. Neither of you."---
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TO BE CONTINUED…