THE POOR GIRL FOUND A BLEEDING MILLIONAIRE IN A GARBAGE DUMP… AND BY MORNING, HIS ENEMIES WERE HUNTING YOU BOTH

You kick lightly at the threshold.

“Abuela!” you call. “Open! It’s me.”

For a second there is no answer.

Fear slices through you faster than any glass in the dump ever has. You suddenly see the little room inside as you left it: your grandmother at the table, breathing too hard, pressing one hand to her chest while pretending she only needed to sit down for a minute. If she is worse, if she has fallen, if she has died while you were out dragging a stranger from the garbage…

Then the bolt slides.

The door opens just enough for one dark eye and half your grandmother’s face to appear.