At dawn, Marta kicks at our mattress. We jolt awake, clothes haphazardly pulled back on. She arches an eyebrow at the state of our disheveled forms. There's a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but she says nothing, turning away with a grunt.
Elena and I scramble upright, cheeks burning. The other men are stirring, no one openly commenting, but I catch a few knowing smirks. My entire body thrums with the aftermath of last night's reckless passion, guilt mingling with satisfaction.
"Move out in ten," Ramirez barks. "Border crossing soon." My stomach churns at the reminder. We gather our belongings, adrenaline spiking again. The memory of Elena's moans in the dark clings to me, fueling my resolve. If we can just survive the crossing, maybe we can find true freedom—together.