Chapter 1 — Arrested in San Paloma

Amelia

The air in the San Paloma detention center was thick with the sour tang of sweat and mildew, clinging to Amelia Hart’s skin like an unwelcome second layer. She sat stiffly on the cold metal bench, her wrists aching from the too-tight handcuffs. The chipped gray paint on the concrete walls and the flickering fluorescent light above seemed to mock her predicament. The heat was oppressive, a damp, suffocating weight that pressed down on her chest. Panic threatened to creep in at the edges of her mind, but Amelia forced herself to focus. She needed to stay sharp, to think her way out of this mess. Panic wouldn’t help her now.

Her paperwork had been flawless. Impeccable, as always. She had triple-checked every visa requirement before setting foot in San Paloma, wary of even the smallest oversight. And yet, the officer with the bored expression and sagging uniform had waved off her protests as if they were background noise. “Visa violations,” he’d grunted, escorting her to the holding cell with a dismissive shrug. She’d seen the way his eyes flicked to the side, the subtle tension in his jaw. This wasn’t about her visa. This was about the questions she’d been asking—questions about missing villagers, poisoned rivers, and shadowy mining operations that no one wanted to discuss. Someone was sending her a message.

Just yesterday, she’d stood in the dusty market square, speaking with a shopkeeper who had glanced nervously over his shoulder as he muttered, “You should stop asking questions, señora. People disappear out there.” Now, sitting in this cell, she had no doubt who was behind her sudden “visa violation.” Victor Duarte. His name hovered like a storm cloud over every whispered warning and guarded glance she’d encountered since arriving in San Paloma.

Her fingers twitched toward the silver pendant at her neck, brushing its smooth surface. Amelia caught herself and dropped her hand before the gesture became too obvious. The pendant was more than jewelry—it was her talisman, a link to her late mentor’s belief in the power of truth. But now wasn’t the time for sentimentality. She couldn’t afford to look vulnerable, not here.

The scrape of boots on tile broke the oppressive silence. Amelia tensed, her head tilting toward the sound, but the footsteps receded again. She exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax even as her mind raced. How much had she uncovered so far? Enough to make Victor nervous, clearly. But not enough to stop him—not yet.

The scrape returned, louder this time, accompanied by the low murmur of voices. Her gaze flicked toward the cell door, where light from the hallway spilled through a narrow, barred window. The metallic creak of hinges broke the quiet as the door swung open, and a man stepped inside.

He looked as though the jungle had left its mark on him—rugged and unpolished, yet undeniably self-assured. Wavy dark blond hair framed a face that might have been handsome were it not for the weariness around his piercing blue eyes. His linen shirt was rumpled and stained with dried mud, and a leather camera strap hung loosely around his neck, its absence of a camera oddly conspicuous. He moved with a casual confidence, though Amelia detected a flicker of tension in his stance, as though he were masking it with ease.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been making friends,” he said, his voice carrying an easy drawl that held just a hint of sarcasm. His gaze landed on Amelia, and his lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She straightened, hazel eyes narrowing. “And you are?”

“Jack Rivers,” he replied, stepping forward as another officer followed behind him and unlocked the bench opposite hers. Jack sank onto the bench, the clink of his handcuffs echoing in the small space. “Photographer. Freelance, technically. Though I’m guessing my client list isn’t exactly expanding right now.”

Amelia studied him, her expression sharp. “A photographer? And what, exactly, were you photographing that landed you here?”

Jack leaned back, his posture deliberately relaxed. “Oh, you know. The usual. Stunning landscapes, vibrant local culture, corrupt mining operations trampling over both.” His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes held a spark of defiance. “Turns out some people don’t like their picture being taken.”

Her stomach twisted, though she kept her face neutral. If he’d been near the mines, he might have seen some of the same things she was chasing. That still didn’t explain why he was sitting across from her now. “Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You were caught snooping where you didn’t belong.”

“Something like that.” Jack’s grin flickered for a moment, replaced by a shadow of something deeper—regret, perhaps, or anger. “And you? Can’t imagine you’re here because you jaywalked.”

“Visa violations,” she replied flatly.

Jack raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident. “Of course. And I’m here because they didn’t approve of my fashion choices.”

Amelia’s jaw tightened. She didn’t owe him an explanation—especially not when she wasn’t sure who he really was or how much she could trust him. Still, there was something about him that tugged at her curiosity. His casual demeanor felt deliberate, a mask for something deeper. His eyes, though sharp, seemed to carry the weight of someone who had seen too much.

“I’m a journalist,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “Investigating illegal mining.”

Jack’s expression didn’t shift, but his gaze sharpened, his casual mask slipping for the briefest moment. “So we’re working the same story.”

“Are we?” she shot back, her voice edged with suspicion. She wasn’t ready to trust him—not yet.

Before he could respond, the cell door opened again. This time, the man who entered radiated authority, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings. Sharp features and graying temples gave him an air of sophistication, but it was his cold, calculating gaze that made Amelia’s skin prickle. She recognized him instantly.

Victor Duarte.

She had seen his face in grainy photos and half-whispered warnings, his name whispered by sources too afraid to go on record. Now, here he was, standing in front of her, his smirk as sharp as a blade.

“Ms. Hart,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. “I hear you’ve had some trouble with your paperwork.”

Amelia rose to her feet, ignoring the ache in her wrists. “I doubt this is about my visa, Mr. Duarte. Care to tell me what this is really about?”

Victor chuckled, a low, humorless sound that sent a chill down her spine. “You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that. But persistence can be… dangerous, in a place like this.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, lifting her chin despite the knot forming in her stomach.

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone mockingly sincere. “Merely a friendly piece of advice. You’re a long way from home, Ms. Hart. Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.”

As Victor spoke, his gaze flicked briefly to her pendant, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The subtle gesture sent a jolt through her, but she refused to let it show. Her fingers curled into fists to keep them from trembling.

Victor turned to Jack then, his smirk widening. “And you. Mr. Rivers, isn’t it? You have an unfortunate habit of pointing your lens where it doesn’t belong.”

Jack didn’t flinch. “Must’ve missed the memo about acceptable angles.”

Victor’s expression darkened, but he said nothing more. Instead, he cast one last glance at Amelia, his gaze lingering as if assessing her resolve. Then, without another word, he turned and strode out of the cell, the door clanging shut behind him.

The heavy silence that followed seemed to press down on Amelia’s chest. She sat back down, her fingers unconsciously brushing against her pendant once more.

“Well,” Jack said after a beat, his voice lighter than the tension hanging in the air. “That was fun.”

Amelia shot him a glare. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

His smile returned, softer this time. “More than you’d think.”

She exhaled slowly, her thoughts racing. Whatever game Victor was playing, she couldn’t afford to lose. And neither, it seemed, could Jack—whoever he really was. For now, they were stuck in the same cage. But Amelia couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths had crossed for a reason.