Carlos tried to rise from his chair, bracing one hand against the bedpost, but the moment he shifted his weight a sharp pain tore through his arm.

"Ish—" he hissed, breath catching.

Amelia moved instantly. She stepped forward, placing a steady hand on his shoulder and another at his back, guiding him carefully until he was seated on the edge of the bed once more. The mattress creaked softly beneath him, the scent of dried herbs and old linen lingering in the air.

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Carlos waved the apology away with his good hand. "It's not your fault," he said. "Honestly, I'm more surprised than anything by all that has happened." He studied her face closely. "But what about you? Are you well?"

Amelia hesitated.

"I heard what happened to your father," Carlos continued, his tone gentle. "I'm truly sorry. Even if our families were never on good terms… I always knew he was a good man. A man who cared for his family above all else."

Her lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes, though she smiled faintly.

"I'm sure he would be happy to hear that," she said softly. "If he were alive."

Then her gaze sharpened. She inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself against a storm.

"It was my nephew," she said. "My father's own grandson."

Carlos froze.

For a moment, the room seemed unnaturally still—the distant sound of footsteps in the corridor, the faint chirping of insects beyond the shutters, even the flicker of the candlelight felt suspended.

"I see," he said at last, his voice low.

He looked at her with a mixture of pity and grim understanding. "Now I understand your silence. This will cause an uproar in Antioquia once it becomes known."

Amelia nodded. "I always knew he was… troubled. But I never imagined he would murder my father."

Carlos exhaled slowly. "If you wish to speak more, I am willing to listen."

She shook her head. "Not yet. First, I need to know that my children are safe in Bogotá."

That, more than her confession, made Carlos straighten.

"That is what I came to ask of you," she continued. "I know you have an estate there—and people you trust. I don't know exactly where Ezequiel found those men, but I'm certain they are connected to that fanatic, Esteban. If he feels cornered, he may go after my family."

Carlos nodded, then turned to the butler. "Bring paper and ink. I will write a letter to Bogotá."

As the butler moved, Carlos added, "I recommend your children remain at my estate—or another secure location. Asking them to travel now would be far more dangerous."

Amelia swallowed and nodded. "I understand."

Then Carlos say with a serious tone. "But… what if they've already been taken? If Ezequiel controls the family's estates, and they were living on one—"

Her face went pale.

"I bought them a villa in Bogotá," she said quickly, almost desperately. "With the money my father gave me. They don't live on the family estate. But some of the servants there still answer to the Gómez de Castro name." She looked at Carlos with wide eyes. "Do you think they could harm my children?"

Carlos leaned back, thoughtful. "How many servants are loyal to your branch of the family—and how many answer directly to Ezequiel?"

She frowned, searching her memory, then shook her head. "I don't know. I never paid much attention."

"That may work in our favor," Carlos said. "If they wanted your children dead, they would already be so. Alive, they are more valuable—to pressure you. And if Ezequiel has sympathizers among the staff, they may wait until they have full control. That gives us time."

He paused. "But you must write to them. If matters worsen, they may trust your household Ezequiel servants more than mine."

Amelia nodded, her hands trembling slightly as the paper was set before her. She dipped the quill into the ink and began to write.

Carlos watched her in silence.

Poor woman, he thought. In a matter of days, she has lost her father, discovered his murderer, endured suspicion and scorn… and now fears for her children.

He felt an unexpected ache in his chest.

She is strong.

He shook his head sharply, chastising himself for the thought—and for the dangerous echo it stirred of his late wife. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

When Amelia finished, Carlos turned to the butler.

"Spread word throughout Medellín and Antioquia of the attack on this estate," he ordered. "Make it known that we sheltered Miss Amelia and protected her. Let public sympathy temper the calls for retaliation. And deliver one of the captured rifles to the regional commander."

The butler raised an eyebrow. "To confirm the suspicion of a foreign force?"

"Yes. These weapons are manufactured in Europe. New Granada lacks the capability to produce them. The Crown will take notice."

"I would send Miguel," the butler said, "but I advise assigning additional men. Ezequiel will not be pleased if evidence of his army reaches the Spanish authorities."

"Do it," Carlos replied grimly. "This situation grows darker by the hour. An Italian-trained force, a religious fanatic at its head… and no one noticed its arrival."

Amelia stood abruptly. "I need some air."

She bowed slightly. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Carlos nodded. "I understand what it means to fear for your children. I will ensure their safety."

She smiled weakly and left.

Carlos watched the door close behind her. He sighed deeply.

The butler studied him. "You seem particularly concerned for Miss Amelia."

Carlos shook his head. "She reminds me of Anna. Losing everything at once. Forced to depend on strangers. Powerless to protect her children." His voice softened. "This world can be cruel."

The butler nodded. "Unjustly so."

Carlos straightened. "Make securing her children a priority. If Ezequiel gains leverage over her, matters will worsen."

The butler nodded solemnly. "Do not worry, sir. I will make the necessary preparations. The three women are already in position. We can send them to protect the children at once."

Carlos frowned slightly. "Are you certain they possess the skills of Óscar?"

The butler shook his head without hesitation. "Of course not. That man spent years as an agent—such experience cannot be replicated. But their task is different. They are to protect two children, not infiltrate a Spanish warehouse. For that, they are more than capable."

Carlos let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. "I still wonder what drove him to walk into a trap, fully aware of what awaited him." His expression hardened. "Very well. Activate them. This will be their first mission. And send for Isabella—I've been told she hasn't slept since my injury."

The butler's gaze softened. "That is true. She has taken an unusual interest in military books. It seems the bullet in your arm changed the course of her life." He hesitated. "Whether for better or worse, I cannot say."

Carlos sighed.

The butler left to give the orders and sent for Isabella.

After a short while, soft footsteps approached. Isabella entered slowly, almost hesitantly. The moment she saw her father, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Carlos cried out in pain.

She pulled back instantly, panic flooding her face. "Did I hurt you, Papa?"

He laughed gently despite the pain and pulled her close with his uninjured arm. "I'm sorry your father is so fragile and caused you such worry."

She sniffled and shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. It's the fault of the bad people who want to hurt our family."

Carlos looked at her with mild surprise, then nodded. "That's right."

"There will always be people who wish to harm others," he said. "That is why we must learn how to protect ourselves."

She hugged him tighter. "Why are people like that?" she asked quietly. "Why can't they just live in peace and leave other people's fathers alone?"

Carlos sighed. He thought of ambition, power, and duty—of paths that could never truly be abandoned. But he could not place that burden on her.

"People are complicated, my sweet girl," he said softly. "We cannot control how others behave. But we can become strong enough to protect ourselves—and those we love."

Isabella nodded slowly. Then she looked up at him with sudden resolve.

"I want to train to become a general."

Carlos froze. "A… general?"

She fidgeted with her fingers, suddenly shy. "I read that soldiers protect nations. And generals command soldiers. So if I want to protect our family…" She hesitated. "Wouldn't that be the best way?"

Carlos frowned, amused but thoughtful. "Then why not simply become a soldier?"

She tilted her head. "Because soldiers follow orders. Generals give them. If soldiers protect nations, then generals protect soldiers. That makes them… higher, doesn't it?"

Carlos laughed and hugged her gently, brushing a hand through her hair. "You think too much for your age."

He took her words as childish logic, spoken without weight or consequence.

He did not yet realize that this innocent declaration would one day mark the beginning of her path—and reshape her destiny.

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