“Hermosa? What are you doing?”
When Gabriel came home late from the Blackwatch debriefing, the last thing he expected to see his cariña furiously snatching clothes off of hangers and lobbing them into her theatre trunk.
“I’m packing my shit,” she spits at him, face as red as fire, accent thick as syrup as it makes a rare appearance. Possibly more confused than before, Gabriel leaves the bedroom to find Jack, smoking on the fire escape.
“Jack, what is she doing?”
Jack grimaces, like he’s been chewing on anger and he just let the foul taste hit his tongue for the first time in hours.
“You heard her, she’s packing her shit.”