“DON’T TOUCH HIM,” THEY WARNED YOU. YOU BOUGHT HIM ANYWAY… AND THAT NIGHT YOU LEARNED WHY MEN WOULD RATHER BURN THEIR SILVER THAN KEEP HIM CLOSE.

You ask the question you don’t want answered, because fear demands clarity. “So you came for vengeance,” you say, and your mouth tastes like iron. Nahuel’s expression tightens, but he doesn’t deny it. “I came for truth,” he corrects you, and the difference matters more than you want it to. He tells you he recognized the region, recognized the name, recognized the pattern of power that built your hacienda. He tells you what you’ve never been told directly: your father used people, took what he wanted, and then sealed his sins in paperwork. “You weren’t there,” Nahuel says, and his voice isn’t kind, but it isn’t cruel either. “But you live inside the house his choices built.” You want to defend your father, to defend your own history, but the documents in your hand whisper against your pride. Then Nahuel says something that fractures your certainty in a different way. “You treated me like a man,” he says, “and it changed what I planned to do.” The admission doesn’t absolve you, but it complicates you, and complication is the beginning of awakening.