“Cut off my arm!” The boy begged through tears, and his father thought he was crazy –
Elvira lingered at the edge of the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, pretending to tidy the sheets while her eyes darted nervously to Alejandro. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she dared not speak further.
A bead of sweat ran down Diego’s temple as he felt the first pangs of panic creeping back. The strap, the cast, the room itself—all conspired to trap him in a world where truth and terror blurred.
He remembered his mother’s gentle voice, a memory like a distant lighthouse: “Always trust what you see, Diego, not what they tell you to believe.” The thought gave him a spark of courage he hadn’t felt in weeks.
Alejandro left the room briefly, muttering something under his breath about getting coffee, leaving Valeria by the door. Her gaze was fixed on Diego, clinical and cold, yet a hint of impatience flickered when he didn’t respond immediately.
Diego twisted slightly, testing the strength of the leather strap. Pain lanced through his wrist, sharp and insistent, but it was accompanied by a small, thrilling sense of control. For a moment, he wasn’t just the boy tied to a bed—he was an agent plotting a fragile escape.
The air seemed to thicken. Every small sound—the whisper of the sheets, Valeria’s soft breathing, Elvira’s shuffling feet—became amplified. Diego felt time stretch, each second hanging heavy, pressing against his chest.
o be unleashed beneath that cast.He imagined removing the cast himself, a thought so simple yet terrifying. Would it reveal something he didn’t want to see? Or confirm the dark suspicion he had nurtured silently for days?
Elvira finally cleared her throat, and the sound jolted him. “Diego… you should stay calm. You need to rest. Everything will be okay,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
Her eyes, however, betrayed her fear. They flickered toward the bedframe, then back at him. That look, subtle yet loaded, suggested that the danger wasn’t just in his imagination.
Diego’s heart raced as he processed her unspoken warning. He realized that he might be the only one who truly saw what was happening. Everyone else either refused to see or actively covered the truth with smiles and threats.
He thought about the ant again, that tiny intruder that had unveiled the first clue. How many other signs had he missed? How deep did the poison run? The question gnawed at him.
A sudden memory hit him: the smell that had churned his stomach, thick and unnatural. The faint sweetness of it lingered still. It had been in the cast the entire time, masked beneath layers of plaster and cotton.
Diego took a shallow breath and willed himself to quiet his racing thoughts. He focused on the cast’s edge, trying to see if the ant’s path had left a trail. Small red specks caught his eye—an almost imperceptible clue, but enough to ignite suspicion.
