Chapter 75 New Shadows, Old Rules

• (POV: Elena)
• Several more months passed in Madrid. Almost three years now since I’d become Elena, since Isabela Montoya died in that dusty motel room. My skills had grown. The small, discreet “document facilitation” service I ran from my anonymous apartment, an identity carefully built on untraceable online platforms and encrypted communications, was actually bringing in a steady, if modest, income. Enough for rent, for food, for the constant upgrading of my digital security, for saving a tiny bit for… well, for whatever came next. For always being ready to run again.
• My forged identities were better now. Papers had their own personalities, each revealing clues when something felt off - fakes stood out like smudges on glass. Meeting people in person? Only when absolutely necessary; safer that way. Instead, notes tucked into library books, signals hidden in bus schedules. Trust vanished early. Now instinct hums louder than logic ever did. My discipline was my armor. The memory of Mateo, his cold eyes, his possessive claim, was a constant dark shadow, but the raw terror had slowly, very slowly, begun to recede, replaced by a hard, watchful caution. I was still hunted, I knew that. But Elena was learning to survive in the shadows.