For a minute, we bask in the dark. Eris' IPhone starts buzzing, and it's call after call in rapid Spanish before she says, "They're here. They know my dad's a traitor. They know he's trying to get in with Sinaloa. And now they're coming for me."

The lights come back on, the neighborhood flickering to its former vibrancy. I heard Mexico City was notorious for earthquakes, but it's calm as ever. What was that, anyway? I think as the anxiety of Eris' worlds settles over me. Some random break in the wiring?

"Who's coming for you?" I ask.

"Jalisco," Eris responds with disdain. "Tijuana was a sinking ship, and Ximena joined forces with the other side." She turns off her phone and sets it gently on the windowsill. "She's with the enemy now, because she knows Iker was the one who sold her out to the feds. He knew she wasn't loyal to Sinaloa. He needed to prove his worth to them by taking out Ximena and sending her running for the hills. But she's here. And she wants my head on a fucking platter."

My tears from earlier are still drying on my face. Letting myself be weak in front of her made me sensitive, and now this sudden shot of panic is making me want to cry all over again.

"I thought this wasn't Jalisco's territory," I say, my voice tight. "You promised me it was safer here."

"They must've had to make a hell of a bribe," she says, her features cold as she glances out the window—the girl was forced to kill five men on her fifteenth birthday, and no death threat will ever surprise her. "But the second we step out of this hotel, we're done."

▴ ▴ ▴

Eris' bodyguards give us five minutes to pack our things in record-breaking speed. Other than the car crash that killed my mother, I've never faced a threat on my life until now, and I'm in an out-of-body haze between eighteen and thirteen, my mother's voice on repeat in my mind ordering me to swallow my tears. I take my skincare and all the dresses Eris bought me, the dress she picked out for me to wear at the finals, and I spend two precious minutes salvaging our paintbrushes and paints, because I can't bring myself to part with them.

And then her bodyguards take us through a maze of hallways and concrete corridors within the hotel, down flights of stairs as they carry Eris and I's bags with ease. They wear the same cold and unsurprised expressions as Eris, having rehearsed the emergency plan a dozen times probably. And I have no choice but to follow them in the blur of efficient panic, thinking about all the times my father warned me about Eris. Warned me not to get involved. Warned me to stay away.

I didn't listen. I didn't listen when I hated her, and I didn't listen now. If I hadn't indulged in our petty rivalry, we could've been strangers.

It makes me disgustingly weak, how long I've relied on her company. And now I have to rely on her again to protect me from being collateral damage in whatever narco war is brewing.

After walking through a limbo of tunnels, we finally get to an empty garage. Instead of the large, black, tinted window car that picked us up from the airport, our ride is nondescript. The driver is a brown-skinned young man with a white baseball cap and a cross tattoo on his neck under his ear. He looks even more terrified than I do, but the money they promised him for being our getaway was likely too much for him to pass on.

The bodyguards take our bags into one of the several other cars waiting in the cold garage. They're all simple and compact enough to blend in. The bodyguards split up, and each get into their own car. They're going to space out the departures so we don't draw attention. But if whoever is waiting for us outside finds out we're here, no amount of planning will have mattered.

Our driver steps out of the taxi and opens the trunk. Then he oh so kindly invites us to climb inside.

"You coming?" Eris asks me.

And I look at her. I allow a moment between us for just one second, forcing my glare to convey the layers of terror and disappointment. Now is no time to argue. We'll have plenty of time for that once we're together in the trunk.

▴ ▴ ▴

We're running away from all sorts of invisible enemies, and thus ensues the wildest road trip of our lives. I want to call my dad, but Eris warns me that my phone could be tapped and reassures me that Iker's got it all covered.

Great. I can't imagine the look on my father's face once he gets a call from Iker Lugo telling him his daughter is at risk. Though I'd doubt Iker would spin it that way. He would give him false reassurances, making him worried sick.

"Where are we going?" I whisper to Eris.

Unlike in the bed, we're putting as much space between us as possible, even as our knees knock against one another, my long legs awkward in the confined space.

I can't stand the thought of touching her. Holding her waist or letting my hand fall to her scarred thigh. Even though all I want to do is squeeze her hand, trace the bones of her fingers, and have at least one thing to ground me. And despite the lump in my throat, the nausea at being tracked, being in here with her almost—almost—makes me forget everything else. As if we're in her pool again, all her enemies harmless and distant in the shadow of her father's power, chlorine droplets glistening off her little tan lines.

"We're heading to Guerrero," she says, as the car engine starts, and we're driving out of the garage, and then out into the world, and all I can do is pray for us not to be found, hiding in a stuffy, hot, tight trunk of a taxi like captives.

I remember that name. Eris' mother's home state. Level 4 Travel Advisory Warning on the US government website — Do not travel.

"And it's supposed to be safer there?" I ask.

"Guerrero has been a war zone for a while. Dozens of little groups fighting for their cut. But Sinaloa has some presence there. And I got family there. And it's not like it's all dangerous, you know? You gotta find the little pockets where the most power is concentrated. The bigger the boss is in the plaza, the safer it is for everyone else. So we're heading to this beach town. No guns. No police. No crime. Lots of tourists."

"If it's such a safe town, why would we go there to ruin the locals' peace?" I ask.

She sighs. "Estos pendejos didn't leave us with much of a choice, Ef."

"Okay."

It's stupid to allow myself to feel relieved at this escape plan. But I trust her. I actually trust this girl with my life.

"You know I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, pendeja. Ever. Even when this is over and you never talk to me again, I'll have your back."

When this is over. My brain is incapable of thinking that far. I don't want to, either.

"Why do you care about me so much, Eris?" I ask.

She lets out a deep breath as the car bumps and accelerates. "I just do."

"That's not enough of an answer."

"C'mon, you gonna make me come up with a whole dissertation on why I love you? It's really not the time for that, princesita."

I go silent. If she wanted to shut me up, it worked, because now my thoughts are scattered with the mention of those three cursed words. I sure hope she's being sarcastic.

Instead, I force myself to think about Canada. Would she be any safer there? Even though that's totally not happening anymore. She has the feds on one end and then Jalisco on the other. There is no escape. She'll be dead within a few years if she's lucky.

There's no way out of that, is there? All roads with Eris Lugo lead to Ms. Santa Muerte, and no matter how much I try to drive that inevitability through my head, I know her death would destroy me.

And what did I expect in coming here? Did I really think Eris' blood ties wouldn't catch up to her? No, I knew the risks. And now everything I came here for—the competition, the money, the status—feels so distant and ridiculous. It's no wonder Eris didn't care about us losing.

"God, I wish I could give you a tattoo," she says, her body heat radiating off mine as the trunk becomes increasingly warm. "Something you'd have forever, so you could never really get rid of me."

I almost laugh. "What, you want our names tattooed on one another like codependent prison wives?"

"Wouldn't be the worst thing," she mumbles, and the cadence of her voice, suddenly sweet, should be paired with some physical gesture. Her hand around my wrist or in my hair. Her lips against my collar. But even though I know she's thinking of it, she doesn't allow herself the risk.

"How about this," she continues. "If we survive, you get to give me a tattoo, and I'll give you a tattoo."

"Do you want me to sign my autograph on you like you're my #1 fan?"

"Nah, not each other's names. That's way too gay, even for me. But we'll figure it out. You down?"

"As long as it's small. I've never tattooed anything, obviously."

"Doesn't matter. I want it to be from you. I don't want just Guerrera de Dios. So that even when you're in Canada, I'll have something that's yours with me. And you'll have something that's mine. Even when we're apart."

I'm an idiot. A few honest conversations, a couple of sleepovers, an incoming road trip into the unknown, and I never want to be apart from her again.

"Getting a tattoo together doesn't seem like something you'd do with your enemy," I say.

"I don't want you to be my enemy," she admits.

"Eris..."

Why is there still so much left unsaid? Why can't we cross that bridge? Even now, on the brink of massacre, so fucking stubborn.

▴ ▴ ▴

At some point, I fall asleep. I wake up in disorienting darkness to the sound of men talking, boots on rocky asphalt, and then the trunk opens, sunlight burning my eyes and exposing Eris and I in our tired, faded, unarmed glory.

We are, safe to say, in the middle of nowhere. An unassuming dirt road. Lush green trees on all sides. But through a gap in the foliage, I see that we're in the mountains. The ocean in the distance looks closer than it probably is. Scattered homes, buildings, and roads line the landscape, and I realize Eris has definitely painted this before.

"Buenos días, princesita," Eris says, as if this is some family road trip. The other bodyguards in their humble cars are all here, blocking the road.

I don't remember dreaming. This is the first time in years I haven't done my nightly routine, and I feel crusty. I would be the most awful kidnapping victim in the world—complaining to the captors about my moisturizer and shea butter, and anguishing at my unruly curls. Eris is right—I really do have that princess attitude.

Eris hops out of the trunk and stretches her arms above her head. Unlike all the bodyguards and our scared-shitless driver, she has a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. This is the first time I've seen her look at ease. In Mexico City, despite her empty promises of safety, she was on guard. But now she's in more familiar territory.

One of the bodyguards has a portable stove and is heating up a kettle of hot water. In minutes, we all have plastic cups of instant black coffee in our hand, drinking in silence, birds chirping above.

Slowly, the men start talking. Eris chats with them casually like she's some middle-aged Mexican uncle—one of them. Despite all my judgments about her arrogance, it seems like she only maintains that attitude with me. As she cracks jokes with the driver and presumably thanks him for taking on the risk, referring to all the men by their names, I realize what makes her likable here. With her ratty clothes and cheerful but respectful attitude, she's not like the stereotype narco that goes around thinking himself above it all.

She's not like Iker.

"You gonna get out of that trunk?" Eris asks me.

My face warms. While holding up my coffee, I step out, stretch my legs, and let myself breathe. Mexico City is teeming in pollution—the air here feels fresh and alive, despite the rapidly escalating heat.

"Are we in the clear?" I ask.

"We got a few more checkpoints," she says. "But we don't need to hide here anymore."

"What do you mean a few more?"

"You ever seen those videos of tourists going down the highway and then they get stopped by police or narcos tryna charge them a toll?"

"We went through that?" I ask, looking her up and down. "While I was asleep and carrying the precious cargo that is you? We could've been kidnapped."

She smiles a little, that knowing smile that tells me she knows so much more than I do. "Kidnapping is a lot of work. Whoever tried would know that Iker would send all the legions of hell after their ass. Besides, we were hidden in the trunk."

"So you got the driver to bribe them."

"Not all of them."

"What?"

"Iker knows all the checkpoints. He knows which ones are run by people on our side, and we were able to avoid the ones that aren't. Our guys will get their money once we make it to our destination safe. All the driver needed to do was show one of these." She pulls out a little laminated prayer card with some kind of Virgin Mary image. "They'll tell their little friends at all the other blockades to hold off. Iker set it up. He always had an emergency plan."

"And what about Ximena? Wouldn't she pay good money to have one of them defect?"

Eris shakes her head. "Ximena is little fish. She's scrambling trying to make a name for herself with Jalisco." Then she smiles, showing the gap between her front teeth I used to hate. "We made it, Ef. We're in the sierra of Guerrero." She bumps her coffee cup with mine. "Salud!"

▴ ▴ ▴

Our previous driver with the cross on his neck drives off with a wad of cash for compensation. And for hours, as the sun rises in the sky, we wait for our next ride.

Four guys on two motorcycles come up the mountain to greet us. They're sweaty and tan, seemingly unarmed, and dressed in faded t-shirts and shorts. Before I can think to be scared, Eris is running toward them, and as soon as they park, they take turns giving her hugs, chattering rapidly in Spanish.

"Ef!" she calls out. "Come meet my family!"

I hesitantly approach. Shake their hands politely as Eris lists through their names. One of them is her uncle—her mother's brother. The other three are her cousins, two of which are heavily tattooed.

After the blur of introductions, the men work together to place their motorcycles into the back of two of the bodyguards' trucks, and then all of them drive off, leaving us stranded.

Trust is everything, I realize. Although Eris' bodyguards are armed, with no transportation, it wouldn't take much to ambush us in this place.

At least that's what I think until our next ride comes. Three huge 4x4s revving up the mountain, with uniformed, masked men carrying AK-47s standing proudly in the back.

"What the hell, Eris?" I say under my breath.

For the first time, she grabs my hand. "Don't worry. They're all our people."  

▴ ▴ ▴

a/n: i can't believe this took so long! fr ever since i got a second job i've had zero time to sit down and write, but i'm free from classes for the summer and can finally finish this up. after this, there's only an epilogue left!