Inside, a dimly lit room reveals crates of contraband, half-burned maps, and a few mismatched chairs. The older man, introduced as Ramirez, sits behind a makeshift table.
Zach, Marta, Elena, and I stand before him like suspects on trial. He rubs his chin, eyeing us. "R said a woman in danger would come, possibly with a companion. Didn't mention you brought a small army."
"Just them," Elena says quietly, gesturing to Zach and Marta. "They're transporting us."
Ramirez looks from her to me, an odd gleam in his gaze. "You want crossing arrangements, I can help. But it'll cost. And if trouble follows, I'll charge extra."
Elena sets her jaw. "We'll handle it. We have some funds."
A hush falls, thick with unspoken tension. Ramirez's people watch from the corners, rifles casually slung, eyes cold. My stomach knots. This is an underworld deal, a labyrinth of bribes and shadows. One wrong move, and we're doomed.
Finally, Ramirez names a steep price. Elena doesn't flinch, though I see the flicker in her eyes—she can barely afford that. She nods. "Deal."
He smirks. "Fine. You stay here tonight. At dawn, we discuss the route. Any trouble, and we dump you."