CHAPTER 38: The Fugitivo Part 9

CHAPTER 38: The Fugitivo Part 9

A residual tremor, subtle but insistent, ran through the muscles of Fénix's hands. He rubbed them against the sides of his jeans, trying to disguise the last spasm of Lucio's poison and the adrenaline that still hadn't completely dissipated. He checked his watch with a sharp flick of his wrist. The hands confirmed what he already knew: he was late.

"Great," he muttered to himself, the word coming out as an exasperated sigh. "Just what I needed. Make her wait. Perfect."

He shrugged on his leather jacket—the same one, worn and with the smell of gunpowder and blood barely masked—and walked with a still slightly stiff gait towards the underground parking garage of Enid Corp. The echo of his boots on the concrete was the only sound in the vast, poorly lit silence.

And there she was.

This wasn't the Enid he knew. There were no power suits or heels that echoed like sentences. She wore dark jeans that hugged her legs, soft black leather boots, a simple white t-shirt, and a leather jacket identical to his, but on her it looked like a style statement, not a utility one. She was leaning against a column, arms crossed, and a slight smile played on her lips as she saw him approach.

Fénix stopped in front of her, arching an eyebrow with a mix of disbelief and self-defensive sarcasm.

"Well, well," he said, letting his gaze travel up and down her figure. "Enid Corp has a casual line. I thought your closet only housed suits that cost more than all the bounties on my head combined."

Enid rolled her eyes, but the smile didn't fade.

"Someone has to compensate for the walking disaster that you are, Fénix. And since you took the liberty of being twenty minutes late, the least you could do is bite that sharp tongue of yours."

Without giving him time to reply, she turned on her heel and guided him through the row of utility and armored vehicles until she stopped in front of a motorcycle. It wasn't just any bike. It was a Ducati Panigale V4 SP2. A racing animal dressed for the street, with a matte black that seemed to absorb the light and blood-red details that screamed speed. A latent roar seemed to emanate from it even while off.

Fénix whistled softly, genuine admiration breaking through his facade of annoyance for a second.

"Nice toy. Let me guess... a forgotten whim from the 'toys to forget your problems' section of some bored executive?"

Enid shot him an amused look as she slid the key into the ignition.

"Something like that. I haven't taken it out in a while, but muscle memory is a curious thing. Maybe I'll remember it." She started the engine, and the roar that filled the garage was visceral, a mechanical growl that promised danger. "Or maybe you'll end up picking me up off the asphalt. Feeling lucky tonight?"

Fénix smiled, a crooked expression, and raised his hands in a gesture of false surrender.

"With you at the controls, Enid, my luck is the last thing I'd trust. But hey, if we die, at least it'll be quick. Literally."

Enid's laugh was lost in the roar of the engine as she revved it sharply, shooting out of the parking garage like a projectile. Fénix held onto her waist, the world reducing to a blur of lights and the wind whipping his face.

After a few minutes, with the city fading into a blur around them, Fénix leaned forward, his mouth near her ear to overcome the din.

"Hey, Enid!" he shouted. "An important question! How many times have you crashed this thing?"

She turned her head slightly, not reducing her speed one bit.

"Crash? Oh, not that many..." she replied, her voice reaching him distorted by the wind and the helmet. "About... fifteen, maybe."

Fénix felt his stomach clench.

"FIFTEEN?!" he yelled, holding on tighter.

"And the passenger only died in two of those!" she added with terrifying nonchalance. "But come on, they were minor details! Everyone signed a waiver!"

"MINOR DETAILS?!" Fénix's shout was ripped away by the wind. "THAT'S WHAT YOU CALL MINOR?!"

Enid's only response was a laugh that mixed with the wail of the engine as she accelerated even more, pushing the speedometer to a number that made Fénix close his eyes and pray to deities he didn't believe in.

The braking was as brutal as the start. The Ducati stopped with a dull screech on the Oberbaum Bridge. Fénix got off unsteadily, his legs like jelly, and leaned over the railing, breathing deeply as if the air of Berlin was the first he'd tasted in years.

"Terra firma," he whispered with near-religious fervor. "Blessed, blessed terra firma."

Enid, in contrast, turned off the engine with an insulting calm and dismounted with the elegance of a cat. She walked to the bridge's wrought-iron railing and leaned on it, looking up at the sky. The moon, almost full, hung like a polished silver coin on black velvet.

"Tomorrow," she said, her voice now soft, thoughtful. "Full moon. They call it the Hunter's Moon. The ancients said it lit the way for hunter and prey to meet in the final dance."

Fénix, recovering, straightened up and approached her side, leaning on the railing more cautiously.

"Are you sure some lazy hunter didn't just make that up to excuse his nightly outings?" he asked with a weak smile.

She turned her head towards him, a playful smile on her lips.

"Maybe. But it's poetic, don't you think? The moon, a neutral beacon. It illuminates both the stalker and the fugitive equally. As if all of nature is holding its breath to see how the dance ends."

Fénix watched her, studying her profile in the silvery light. There was a strangeness about her tonight, a veiled vulnerability that didn't fit.

"Why are we here, Enid?" he asked, his voice lower. "Is this a date or an elaborate metaphor about my life in constant freefall?"

She laughed, a soft sound that mixed with the river breeze.

"A bit of both, perhaps. But I wanted to show you something the city can't give you. Something that's real. The moon... it always reminds me that no matter how much we build, fight, and destroy, there are cycles that are eternal. Unchanging."