Chapter 2 - A TWIST OF FATE

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, trying not to sound nervous as I hurried to keep up with Soraya's rapid strides. It was late afternoon, school was out, and the fiery sun hung low over Old San Juan's skyline. The stone streets, steeped in centuries of history, gleamed under the fading light, and I couldn't shake the feeling that every cobblestone had its own story to tell.

Soraya grinned, brandishing her camera like a badge of honor. "Absolutely sure. I heard people talking about strange lights and a brawl last night—might've been a big fight, might've been something else." She paused at a graffiti-covered wall, scanning the swirling designs of neon parrots and dancing figures. "Some folks said it was… supernatural." Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

I exhaled slowly, a swirl of doubt and curiosity curling in my stomach. "Supernatural," I repeated, trying to sound skeptical. But the memory of last night's dream still haunted me. Could there really be a link?

Soraya flipped one of her purple braids off her shoulder. "Hey, if there's even a chance it's true, we could break the story first."

Across the plaza, the scent of freshly made piraguas (shaved ice) mingled with the tang of sea air. A street vendor rang a small bell, calling out flavors—piña, tamarindo, frambuesa. As we passed, Soraya darted over for a tamarindo cup. I opted for piña. The sweet ice melted on my tongue, offering a momentary relief from the heat.

We wove deeper into Old San Juan, past pastel-painted colonial buildings that had stood for centuries. Iron balconies hung overhead, and cobblestone roads dipped gently downhill toward the bay. Every so often, we paused to snap photos of street art or to admire a hidden courtyard brimming with bougainvillea vines. I couldn't help noticing the flicker of a memory—Abuela once told me how these same streets bore the footprints of explorers, enslaved people, and revolutionaries alike. And me? I was just another Puerto Rican kid trying to figure out where I fit in.

We turned a corner leading to a quieter alley. Vibrant graffiti decorated the walls in sweeping strokes—jaguars, mermaids, coquí frogs. Yet something felt off. The air here was cooler, and the usual bustle was absent. My pendant, resting beneath my shirt, warmed slightly against my chest.

Soraya lifted her camera. "They said something happened around here." Her voice was hushed, as though we were stepping onto hallowed ground.

I leaned closer to the cracked pavement. Dark scorch marks streaked the ground, radiating in a circular pattern. They might have been from fireworks or a trash can fire, but they looked oddly precise. My heart thumped.

"Looks like a blast of some sort," I murmured. "But the shape is… strange."

She crouched down, snapping pictures from every angle. "If these are footprints," she said, pointing at the smudged shapes around the outer ring, "it's like a bunch of people scattered. Why would they be messing around with fireworks in a narrow alley? That's basically a death wish."

A gust of wind swept through, carrying the distant echo of car horns and laughter from the main streets. For a moment, I thought I heard something else—a whisper of a drumbeat, so faint it felt like a pulse in my ears. I froze, goosebumps rising along my forearms. Soraya didn't seem to notice.

I shook my head, standing straighter. "Maybe it was a gang fight or something? We should probably—" I trailed off as a flash of movement caught my eye at the alley's far end.

A figure stood partially hidden behind a battered dumpster, watching us. I couldn't make out much—just lean shoulders, dark hair, and an intense stillness in his stance. My chest tightened, and an inexplicable wave of déjà vu washed over me. For a split second, I was back in my dream, seeing flickers of red light and hearing strange chanting. The coquí pendant pulsed once, a light pressure against my ribs.

"Hey!" Soraya yelled, stepping forward. "We're not cops or anything—we just want to talk!"

The figure tensed. Before I could open my mouth, he dashed forward with startling speed, slipping past us and into the sunlight. A swirl of warm air fanned across my face, and then he was gone. My heart pounded so loudly that it drowned out any hope of hearing footsteps.

"Wow," Soraya muttered, lowering her camera. "He was fast."

"Too fast," I murmured, swallowing hard. I'd seen his face for only a fraction of a second, but there was something familiar in his startled gaze—like he recognized me. Which was impossible… right?

Soraya bit her lip thoughtfully. "Think we should go after him?"

A siren wailed in the distance, and the sky shifted to a deeper orange. My gut twisted with equal parts curiosity and caution. "We can try, but he's probably long gone."

A grin spread across her face. "All the more reason to investigate! Come on." Without waiting for my answer, she bolted toward the mouth of the alley.

I followed, my shoes scuffing the cobblestones. My mind raced with questions. Who was that guy? And why did I feel like I'd brushed against something bigger than myself—something that reminded me of old stories about hidden powers and protective spirits? Magic isn't real, I told myself again. But the coquí pendant pressed warmly against my chest as though to challenge that thought.

We scoured nearby streets for ten minutes, trying to track down the mysterious runner. All we got were confused looks from tourists and a few suspicious frowns from local shop owners. Eventually, we slowed to a stop near an abandoned park, panting and sweaty. Soraya pulled out her phone and tapped at it, likely making notes for her budding investigation.

"Fine," she said at last, catching her breath. "He's gone. But we definitely saw something weird—scorch marks, a fleeing dude, and that giant circle like a blast zone." She eyed me, curiosity brimming. "You noticed anything else?"

I hesitated, thinking of that fleeting drumbeat, the warmth in my pendant. "Not really." The words tasted like a lie. My father's disapproval echoed in the back of my mind, a reminder not to chase fantasies or jump to wild conclusions. Still, I hated lying to Soraya—she was my best friend, the one who'd always had my back.

Luckily, she didn't push. Tucking her phone away, she offered me half of her leftover piragua, the ice now melted into syrupy sweetness. "Let's call it for today. We'll head back and see if the local news says anything. Maybe I'll dig around online for more clues."

I nodded, taking a sip of the tamarindo liquid. The tang of it brought me back to reality, grounding me in the here and now. "Yeah. Sounds good."

By the time I reached home, dusk was settling over our neighborhood. Warm lights glowed in windows, and the hum of reggaetón spilled from someone's backyard party. I paused at the fence, noticing Dad's silhouette in the living room. He was pacing—never a good sign.

Stepping inside, I found him with the TV on mute, a newspaper spread across the table. He looked up sharply. "You're late."

"Yeah, sorry," I said, trying not to sound as guilty as I felt. "Soraya and I—"

He held up a hand. "I already figured. Just… let me know next time, okay?" His voice had softened, though worry etched lines around his eyes. We shared a tense glance before he turned away, returning to the open newspaper.

Inwardly, I sighed. In another life, maybe I'd have told him the truth: "Dad, I think I might've seen something supernatural… or at least someone tied to these weird scorch marks." But that conversation never went well in my head. Plus, he'd probably ground me for a month. Instead, I offered a quiet nod and retreated to my room.

My room felt stifling, the day's heat still trapped in the walls. I opened the window, letting in a humid breeze that carried faint traces of fried plantains from a neighbor's kitchen. Dropping onto my bed, I dug out the coquí pendant from under my shirt. In the dim glow of my bedside lamp, the tiny frog carving seemed almost alive.

Pressing it against my palm, I closed my eyes. A wave of memory hit me—Abuela singing lullabies about the island's spirit, her voice as gentle as the ocean at sunrise. My chest tightened with longing.

"Mateo… Teo…" My name drifted through my mind, echoing from last night's dream. I pictured those bright coquí frogs perched on leaves, the swirl of red light among them, and that chanting voice I still couldn't decipher. Suddenly, I was back in the alley, sensing a faint drumbeat that made no sense in the middle of a modern city.

A knock at my door jerked me out of my thoughts. "Teo?" Dad's voice filtered through. "Everything okay?"

I scrambled to hide the pendant under my pillow, my heart thumping. "Yeah, Dad. I'm good."

He paused. For a moment, I thought he'd come in, but footsteps receded down the hall. My shoulders loosened, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Staring at the closed door, my mind ran wild. Who was that guy in Old San Juan? What caused those scorch marks? Why did my pendant heat up like it had a mind of its own? And most pressing: Could it all be connected to the weird chanting from my dream?

I knew one thing for sure: something strange was brewing in my life—something that might turn every old family legend and every cautionary tale my father ever told me upside down. And despite the knot of fear in my belly, I felt something else too: a tiny spark of excitement.

I couldn't shake the idea that whatever happened in that alley, it was bigger than Soraya's next headline. Bigger than me. And from the way my pendant pulsed when I replayed the day's events, I had a hunch that my late-night dreaming and these bizarre scorch marks were only the beginning.