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Kelly had helped Cataleya remove the bullet lodged in her arm, skillfully tending to her wound before wrapping it neatly in a bandage. Once done, she handed Cataleya a fresh set of clothes—a sleek, all-black outfit that exuded a sharp and tactical vibe. The ensemble consisted of a fitted sleeveless top paired with cargo pants featuring multiple utility pockets. Black heeled boots completed the look, enhancing the outfit's edgy and modern appearance.

Her hairstyle added to the polished look. Cataleya's long, sleek hair, slightly wavy, cascaded effortlessly down her shoulders. The hair was cleanly parted in the middle, with the top section pulled back into a half-up, half-down style, smooth and sleek, highlighting the natural shine. Large hoop earrings adorned her ears, perfectly complementing the hairstyle's elegant yet understated charm. Her makeup followed a natural glam aesthetic—flawless, radiant skin, soft nude lips, defined brows, subtle eyeshadow, and voluminous lashes that framed her eyes beautifully.

Kelly paused as she entered the room, giving Cataleya a once-over. Her eyes scanned her up and down before a knowing smirk tugged at her lips. "Damn. Can't blame the killer's words now." She remarked slyly.

Cataleya immediately understood the reference to Armando and rolled her eyes.

Kelly's smirk widened. "You're not as bad as I thought. I'll see you downstairs." She said before walking off.

Left alone, Cataleya adjusted the fit of her clothes, ensuring everything was in place, then followed after Kelly. When she descended, she noticed the computer in full operation, running a program that functioned like God's Eye, its surveillance capabilities pulling up a live feed. In the footage, she caught a glimpse of a woman in her kitchen—it seemed to be Marcus' wife.

Nearby, Armando sat at the counter, looking through a collection of photographs. Each time a picture popped up on the screen, he shook his head, rejecting it. They were trying to identify a man whose actions had sparked their entire ordeal. Armando, as the one familiar with the face but not the name, was their best hope of pinpointing the target.

Time slipped by, and as the day turned to evening, most of the group scattered throughout the house, working on their own tasks. Dorn stayed glued to the computer, focused on gathering intel. Cataleya, on the other hand, had drifted into an unintended nap on the couch, her exhaustion catching up to her after days of unrest.

When she woke up, she blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented. Realizing she had slept through most of the day, she let out a quiet sigh. It wasn't surprising—she hadn't had proper sleep in days. Adjusting herself, she sat upright and scanned the room. Her gaze settled on Armando, who remained seated in the same spot, still meticulously combing through files and photos.

Armando suddenly stopped, his eyes locking onto a picture. Rising from his seat, he walked over to Dorn and put it in the printer.

Dorn noticed what he was doing, before looking up at him. "Hey, hey, hey." He protested. "Do I walk into your house and tell you how to make cocaine?"

Cataleya's lips quirked in a faint, hidden smirk at Dorn's remark, but the memory of similar past situations quickly dampened her amusement. She kept her expression neutral, leaning quietly against the wall, observing the interaction.

Armando ignored Dorn's comment, his focus remaining on the screen. He pointed at it. "Blow it up." He ordered. Dorn zoomed in on the image, and Armando's posture straightened as he scrutinized the photo. "It's him."'he declared confidently.

As Armando turned around, his eyes briefly lingered on Cataleya, who had been watching him from a distance. His gaze swept over her before meeting her eyes. There was something in his look that made her narrow hers slightly, suspicion creeping into her mind.

What is he playing at? She wondered silently.

Before she could dwell on it further, Mike and Marcus sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes as they got up & walked over.

"You sure it's him?" Mike asked.

Armando nodded firmly. "That's the guy who ordered the hit."

Dorn leaned in closer to examine the photo and pulled up additional details on the screen. "James McGrath," Dorn read aloud. "Army Ranger School, counterintelligence. Deployed in Mexico until 2005. Worked with the DEA, Defense Attaché's office." He suddenly leaned back, his expression shifting. "Oh, shit." He patted Armando on the shoulder, his tone laced with mock sympathy. "He was taken hostage by—" He patted Armando's shoulder who was sat back faced to the screen. "—your friends, the cartel. Gave up his entire squad 'under duress.'"

Armando's jaw tightened, his glare cutting through Dorn. "It's called torture, man," he retorted coldly.

Unfazed, Dorn continued scrolling. "He was the only survivor." He added casually.

Mike shook his head. "Cap had him the whole time and didn't even know it," he muttered, taking the picture in his hands. "Unbelievable." He stood abruptly, heading outside to relay the discovery to their detective contact.

Cataleya, still leaning against the wall, placed her hands on her hips and clicked her tongue, deep in thought. Her eyes drifted to Armando, who had returned to his seat. His calm exterior was impenetrable as always, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more behind his gaze than he let on.

Cataleya walked to the restroom & checked herself. She was honest to say that she missed looking this good with makeup, hair & style. Thanks to Kelly.

Looking down on her necklace, she sighed as the past flashed from her father's words.

Cataleya stood still in front of the mirror, the soft hum of the bathroom's dim light casting a subtle glow. She absentmindedly touched the necklace around her neck, the delicate pendant shaped like a small flower, its petals curved inward like a bloom frozen in time. It had always been a part of her, a piece her mother had given her when she was young. The flower was crafted with fine detail, each petal engraved with the name Cataleya in small, flowing script, a name that now felt like a distant echo of who she once was.

She never took it off, not since that day. It was the last thing her mother had left her, the final piece of a life that had been ripped away in an instant.

But in that quiet moment, as she stared at the reflection before her, something shifted. She hadn't noticed before how closely she'd been holding onto that necklace, as though it were her last tether to the past. The weight of the pendant felt different today, heavier somehow, as though it were a reminder of everything she'd lost—and everything she still needed to find.

She let out a slow breath, almost as if to release the emotions that had built up inside her over the years. The longing, the pain, the search for the truth. Her father's last words echoed in her mind, and she pressed a hand to her chest, squeezing the pendant tighter.

"Never forget where you came from," his voice still haunted her, even though she never knew the full story of who had truly killed them. It had been men, the ones who took everything from her when she was only ten years old.

As she turned away from the mirror, lost in the swirl of past memories, she suddenly realized she wasn't alone.

Armando stood there, just inside the bathroom door, his frame leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was almost predatory, but there was something in his eyes that held her attention—something that caused a jolt of recognition deep in her chest. It wasn't just the cold, calculating nature he usually wore; it was something different this time.

"You don't talk about it much," he said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the tension in the air. He wasn't looking at her directly, but his gaze had softened just enough to indicate he was aware of what she was holding onto—both literally and metaphorically.

Cataleya's pulse quickened, her fingers subconsciously tightening around the flower pendant once more. She felt exposed in that moment, as though he could read her thoughts with frightening accuracy. The air between them felt thick with unspoken understanding.

"What do you know?" she asked before she could stop herself, her voice a little more strained than she intended.

Armando didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes shifting down to the pendant that she hadn't noticed she was still gripping. He tilted his head, studying it for a brief moment before locking eyes with her again. The tension between them grew palpable, and Cataleya's heart beat faster.

"We both know what it's like," he finally said, his tone almost conspiratorial. "To lose everything... to be shaped by the failures in our lives." His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Cataleya blinked, her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure if he was talking about their shared trauma or something deeper. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—an understanding, a shared history she hadn't expected from him. For a moment, she almost believed that Armando might know something about her past, something about who was responsible for her parents' deaths. It was a dangerous thought, one that she quickly pushed aside, but the feeling lingered.

"Did you know them?" she asked before she could stop herself, her voice softer now, yet holding an edge of suspicion.

His gaze darkened slightly, the flicker of recognition in his eyes hardening into something more guarded. He didn't answer right away, and Cataleya felt the weight of that silence settle between them. It was like he was debating whether or not to reveal something. Finally, he exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching as he spoke again.

"I didn't know them directly," Armando began, his voice low, "but I know the kind of people who killed them. People like them are everywhere. They don't just take lives—they leave scars that last long after the blood's dried."

His words hit Cataleya like a blow to the gut. She could feel the truth in them, but there was something else—something in the way he spoke, in the way he didn't quite look at her, that made her question whether he knew more than he was letting on. Had he crossed paths with her parents' killers? Had he been part of their world in some way, some twisted connection they shared in the shadows?

"You know something, don't you?" she pressed, taking a step closer to him, her voice low but insistent.

Armando's gaze met hers, and this time, the cold exterior slipped just enough for her to see the flicker of something else—something darker. He was calculating, weighing his words carefully before he spoke again.

"I'm saying that people like us... we've been through too much to pretend the past is gone," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "But some things aren't meant to be uncovered. Some things are better left in the shadows."

His words hit her like a slap, and a part of her felt a deep, painful understanding of what he meant. But another part—something within her—refused to let go. The need to know who killed her parents burned inside her, and no amount of warning from Armando would stop it.

"I won't stop until I know the truth," Cataleya said quietly, her voice steady but filled with a quiet rage.

Armando didn't respond at first. Instead, he let out a sigh, his gaze lingering on her face. "Then you're just like me," he said finally, his voice softer but carrying a weight she couldn't ignore.

The silence that followed felt like an understanding—a silent agreement between them that neither could escape. And in that moment, Cataleya realized that the bond they shared went deeper than either of them was willing to admit. They were both shaped by their pasts, both marked by the failures that had brought them to this point.

But now, they were bound by something else: the truth. And neither of them would rest until it was uncovered.

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