Chapter 34: S2E3: What Would You Sacrifice?
(10 DAYS UNTIL RAGNAK'S DECISION)
The humidity in the botanical garden clung to Camila’s skin like a second layer, thick with the scent of overripe figs and damp earth. She’d come here to think, to breathe, to escape the weight of yesterday’s confrontation at the fountain. But the air here was just as heavy.
Ragnak appeared between two ferns, their fronds brushing his shoulders like whispering fingers. He didn’t greet her. Just stood there, watching.
Camila didn’t flinch. She’d learned that much from Ruben—stillness could be armor.
Ragnak tilted his head. "What would you do to be chosen?"
The question wasn’t hypothetical. It was a scalpel pressed to an unanesthetized wound.
Camila exhaled slowly, her fingers curling around the acorn in her pocket—the one she’d crushed yesterday. "I won’t become cruel. I won’t betray myself." She met his gaze. "But I will fight. Endure. Stand when everything else breaks."
Ragnak’s lips twitched—not a smile, but the clinical satisfaction of a surgeon finding the exact point to cut. "Well. Would you become a whore?"
Camila’s breath hitched. The word hung between them, ugly and deliberate.
She didn’t look away. "No."
He stepped closer. The garden’s humid air thickened between them. "Would you use your holes?"
Her stomach clenched. She remembered Ruben’s hands on her waist yesterday, the way he’d pushed just to see if she’d push back. "Not like that."
Ragnak’s fingers traced the edge of a bromeliad’s serrated leaf. "Would you get naked? In front of me? Right now?"
Camila’s pulse hammered in her throat. The garden was empty except for them, the paths winding like veins through the greenery. She thought of the women she’d guided through the wilderness, how she’d taught them to shed fear before stripping for a freezing river crossing.
She unbuttoned her shirt.
The fabric whispered open. Ragnak didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched as she let it slide off her shoulders. Her bra followed. The air prickled against her bare skin.
"Good." His voice was detached. Analytical. "Now the rest."
Camila’s fingers trembled only once—on the button of her jeans. She shoved them down her hips, stepped out of them. Peeled off her underwear.
The grass was cool under her feet. The garden’s hidden insects hummed.
Ragnak’s gaze swept over her like a spotlight. "Would you suck my dick?"
Camila swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She imagined the weight of him, the salt-slick taste, the way his fingers might knot in her hair.
She lifted her chin. "If it meant something."
That got a reaction—a flicker in his otherwise dead eyes. He unzipped his pants, freed himself. His cock was already half-hard, thick and unforgiving.
"Prove it."
Camila dropped to her knees. The earth pressed into her skin, damp and yielding. She didn’t hesitate. Took him in her hand first, felt the heat of him, the pulse beneath the velvet skin. Then she leaned forward and licked a slow stripe up the underside.
Ragnak didn’t groan. Didn’t thrust. Just watched her with that same dispassionate intensity.
She took him deeper. Her lips stretched, her tongue working the ridge of his crown. His fingers finally tangled in her hair—not guiding, just testing. Seeing how far she’d go.
Camila hollowed her cheeks, sucked him down until her throat fluttered around him. Her eyes watered. She didn’t pull away.
Ragnak’s grip tightened. "Enough."
She released him with a wet sound, her breath uneven.
"Final question." He dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, smearing spit. "Would you let me fuck you? Now?"
Camila’s thighs were already slick. Not with fear. Not even with shame. With something darker.
She rose, her body humming. "Yes."
Ragnak didn’t kiss her. Didn’t touch her beyond what was necessary. He just turned her around, pressed her against the trunk of an ancient magnolia. The bark bit into her palms.
She heard him spit into his hand. Felt the blunt pressure of him against her entrance.
Then he pushed in.
Camila gasped. He was thick, unyielding, stretching her in a single brutal stroke. No preamble. No gentleness. Just the relentless slide of his hips, driving her forward into the tree.
She braced herself, nails digging into bark. Ragnak fucked her like it was an experiment—controlled, methodical, adjusting his angle until she made a sound. Then exploiting it.
The air smelled of crushed leaves and sweat. His breath was even against her shoulder. No ragged moans. No filthy words. Just the wet slap of skin, the creak of the tree under their weight.
Camila’s body betrayed her first. Her cunt clenched around him, heat coiling low in her belly. She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Ragnak noticed. Of course he did. His hand slid around her hip, fingers finding her clit.
"Don’t." His voice was calm. Clinical. "Hold it."
She tensed, thighs shaking. The orgasm hovered, just out of reach.
He fucked her harder. Deeper. His fingers relentless.
Camila came with a choked cry, her body shuddering around him. Ragnak followed seconds later, his release pulsing inside her—hot, impersonal.
He withdrew without a word.
Camila sagged against the tree, her skin sticky with sweat and sap. She heard him fasten his pants, the zipper’s rasp loud in the garden’s hush.
When she turned, he was already walking away.
"Ten days," he said, not looking back.
The magnolia’s petals drifted down around her. White. Fragile. Landing silently in the dirt.
Camila dressed slowly. Her knees were grass-stained. Her lips swollen.
Somewhere beyond the garden walls, Lisbon carried on—unaware, unchanged.
She picked up the crushed acorn from where it had fallen. Rolled it between her fingers.
Then pocketed it.
And walked out.
=====
And walked out.
The city lights pulsed below Miradouro da Graça like a slow heartbeat, the river swallowing the last streaks of sunset. Bruno lit a cigarette with hands that didn’t shake—not quite—and exhaled toward the view he’d photographed a hundred times for tourists who’d never really see it.
Ragnak appeared beside him, silent as a scalpel sliding from its sheath.
Bruno didn’t turn. "Camila’s missing three buttons."
The wind carried the scent of charred sardines from a nearby grill. Ragnak observed the smoke curling from Bruno’s lips. "She’ll replace them."
"Or not." Bruno flicked ash over the railing. Below, a tram screeched around a corner.
Ragnak’s gloved hands rested on the stone ledge. "A stranger comes to you and offers something." His voice carried no inflection. "What is it?"
Bruno inhaled. The tobacco burned his throat. "Truth."
"Why?"
"Because lies rot cities from the inside."
"Why?"
Bruno’s jaw tightened. "Because I’m good at finding what’s buried."
The breeze kicked up, carrying the metallic tang of the river. Ragnak waited.
Bruno ground out the cigarette. "Because I hate watching powerful men sleep soundly."
"Why?"
"Because someone has to hold the fucking mirror." His knuckles whitened on the railing.
Ragnak remained still. The tenth question hung between them.
Bruno stared at the peeling paint on a nearby bench where two lovers had carved initials last summer. Now abandoned. "Because I can’t stand knowing I could’ve stopped it," he muttered. "The suffering. The—" His voice cracked. "The look in their eyes when they realize no one’s coming."
Ragnak nodded. "Now I know you better."
A street musician below began tuning a guitar, the notes slipping through the dusk like a confession. Bruno’s phone buzzed—Beatriz’s name flashing. He ignored it.
Ragnak turned to leave. His shadow stretched long across the cobbles.
Bruno pulled out another cigarette. Fumbled the lighter. The flame wavered in the gathering dark.
Lisbon sharpened below them, all edges and secrets.
The guitar player struck a chord.
Somewhere near the river, a child laughed.
Ten days remained.
=====
(9 DAYS UNTIL RAGNAK'S DECISION)
Parque Eduardo VII's geometric hedges cut sharp angles against the twilight, the manicured greenery smelling of gasoline and clipped chlorophyll. Ruben balanced on the stone balustrade, his sneakers hanging over the eight-meter drop to the street below. The city lights winked up at him like dare.
Ragnak materialized from between two topiary pyramids, his gloved fingers brushing leaf edges that immediately stilled.
"A stranger offers you something," he said without preamble. "What is it?"
Ruben grinned, teeth flashing in the dusk. "Thrill."
"Why?"
"Because routine's for corpses." Ruben kicked his heels against the stone, sending a pebble plummeting. It clicked twice before disappearing into traffic.
Ragnak didn't blink. "Why?"
"Adrenaline's the only thing that makes me feel..." Ruben trailed off, watching a motorcycle weave through gridlock. The rider's jacket flapped like broken wings.
"Feel what?"
"Real."
The fountain across the plaza gargled. Ragnak waited.
Ruben's throat worked. "Because when I'm falling, or burning, or..." He flexed the hand Camila had bandaged yesterday after his knuckles split on Bruno's teeth. "It's the only time my head shuts the fuck up."
"Why?"
"Jesus Christ." Ruben jumped down, gravel crunching under his soles. "Because quiet is worse."
"Why?"
The last streetlamp flickered on, throwing Ragnak's shadow across Ruben's face.
"Because then I remember." Ruben's voice dropped to a rasp. "The silence after the crash. My brother's breath rattling in that hospital corridor. The way the monitors flatlined before anyone bothered to fucking notice."
A tram screeched in the distance. Somewhere in the park, a branch snapped.
Ragnak tilted his head. "Why?"
Ruben spun, fist already flying—
Ragnak caught his wrist mid-air, the grip surgical. Ruben's pulse hammered against gloved fingers.
"Because," Ruben whispered, breath ragged, "if I stop moving, it catches me."
Ragnak released him. "Now I know you better."
The admission hung between them like a noose. Ruben wiped his mouth, tasting copper and yesterday's whiskey.
Across the plaza, Julieta emerged from the tree line, her silhouette sharp against the sodium lights. She paused when she saw them, one hand drifting toward her absent knife.
Ruben forced a grin. "Miss me, princess?"
Julieta's eyes flicked to Ragnak, then back. "Like a migrane."
Ragnak turned away, his coat swirling around his ankles like pooling ink. "Nine days."
Ruben watched him go, the phantom weight of Camila's fingers still tight around his wounded hand. The city hummed below them—alive, relentless, loud enough to drown out anything if you listened hard enough.
Julieta lit a cigarette. The flame trembled.
Ruben plucked it from her lips, took a drag. "You're shaking."
"So are you."
He passed it back, their fingers brushing over the filter. Neither mentioned the blood smeared on the paper.
Somewhere beyond the park, an ambulance wailed.
The night stretched before them, vast and hollow and impossibly bright.
=====
The night stretched before them, vast and hollow and impossibly bright.
João found Ragnak beside the MAAT museum’s undulating facade, where the Tagus lapped at the concrete like a tired dog. His fingers still smelled of Julieta’s cheap soap, the kind that left his skin raw.
Ragnak didn’t turn. "A stranger offers you something." The river swallowed his pause. "What is it?"
João watched a cargo ship’s lights bleed across the water. "Control."
"Why?"
"Because variables compound." His planner wasn’t in his pocket. Julieta had kept it.
Ragnak waited. The wind carried the scent of burnt sugar from a nearby churro cart.
João exhaled. "Because people disappoint."
"Why?"
"Because my father promised he’d come back from the hospital." A moth battered itself against a streetlamp above them.
Ragnak’s gloves flexed slightly. "Why?"
João’s throat tightened. He thought of Julieta’s scar, the way she’d flinched when he’d touched it during the swap. "Because plans don’t leave."
The ship’s horn bellowed. Ragnak didn’t blink.
João’s nails bit into his palms. "Because if I account for everything, nothing hurts."
"Why?"
"Because—" His voice cracked. The moth fell to the pavement, wings still twitching.
Ragnak stepped closer. His shadow cut João in half.
João whispered it: "Because safety’s the first lie we believe."
The river sighed against the embankment. Ragnak’s nod was barely perceptible. "Now I know you better."
Somewhere upstream, a drunk tourist laughed. The sound skittered across the water like a skipped stone.
João unclenched his hands. His palms bore half-moon indents.
Lisbon’s skyline shimmered—orderly, precise, a lie told in glass and steel.
Nine days remained.
Ragnak was already gone when João looked up, leaving only the imprint of polished shoes on damp concrete.
The moth stopped moving.
João picked it up, careful not to crush the wings, and dropped it into the river.
The current took it without ceremony.
=====
Julieta found the planner under her mattress, wedged between a translated manuscript and the pistol she’d taped back under the sink. João’s handwriting filled every margin—neat, relentless, the ink slightly smudged from his morning coffee ritual.
She flipped to today’s date. *7:30 AM: Review revised transit proposal with Mayor’s office (see pg. 42 for contingency notes).*
Her burner buzzed. Bruno: *He’s at the river. Alone now.*
Julieta ran her thumb over the planner’s edge. The paper was thick, expensive, the kind that didn’t bleed ink. She thought of João’s hands—precise, manicured, gripping her sink like it was the edge of a cliff.
The pistol’s weight had surprised him yesterday. She’d seen it in his face.
Her phone buzzed again. Bruno: *You keeping that thing?*
Julieta snapped a photo of João’s itinerary and texted it back: *Which part scares you more—that he planned for this, or that he didn’t?*
Across the city, Beatriz stood in her hospital’s rooftop garden, scrolling through the same photo. The wind tugged at her scrubs. Below her, an ambulance unloaded a gurney, the patient’s face obscured by an oxygen mask.
She zoomed in on João’s notes. *Pg. 42: If Julieta alters route, assume hostile intent.*
A nurse called her name. Beatriz didn’t move.
The gurney’s wheels squeaked against linoleum. The doors hissed shut.
She typed one word to Bruno: *Both.*
=====
Ruben found Camila at the climbing gym near Intendente, her fingers taped where the bark had ripped skin yesterday. She was halfway up a brutal overhang, muscles trembling, sweat darkening the back of her tank top.
He tossed a protein bar onto her gym bag. "You missed the fun."
Camila’s grip slipped. She caught herself, swore, and dropped to the mat. "What fun?"
"Ragnak’s new game." Ruben nodded toward the chalk bucket where someone had scrawled *9 DAYS* in shaky letters. "Ten questions. All roads lead to trauma."
Camila unwrapped the bar. The chocolate smelled faintly of coconut. "What’d you give him?"
"Thrill." Ruben flexed his bandaged hand. "Apparently my death wish has daddy issues."
She chewed slowly. The protein bar tasted like sawdust and regret. "He fucked me in the botanical garden."
Ruben’s grin faltered. "Literally or metaphorically?"
Camila wiped her mouth. The tape on her fingers was already fraying. "Yes."
The gym’s speakers blared a pop song about heartbreak. Someone’s carabiner clattered to the floor.
Ruben picked at his scab. "Regrets?"
"Only that magnolias don’t make good headboards." She balled up the wrapper and missed the trash can. "Your turn."
He watched the wrapper roll toward the weights area. "I almost punched him."
Camila snorted. "Almost doesn’t count."
"Tell that to my knuckles." He held up his hand—the bandage was bleeding again.
She reached for her medical kit. The disinfectant stung when she dabbed it on his split skin. Ruben didn’t flinch.
"You know," she murmured, "there’s easier ways to feel something."
He watched her tie off the fresh bandage. "Not for me."
The climber next to them fell with a yelp. The belayer laughed.
Camila’s fingers lingered on Ruben’s wrist. His pulse jumped under her touch.
Nine days.
The clock on the wall ticked louder than it had any right to.
=====
Bruno found Beatriz in the hospital morgue, her latex gloves snapping as she pulled them off. The antiseptic lights made her look like a cadaver herself.
"You seen this?" He tossed João’s planner onto a stainless-steel table. It slid to a stop beside a covered corpse.
Beatriz didn’t touch it. "Page forty-two?"
"Page sixty-three." Bruno flipped it open. *Contingency: Beatriz’s access to Morgue Sector B.*
She stilled. Sector B was where they stored the John Does, the gunshot wounds, the bodies waiting for someone to claim them.
Bruno tapped the entry. "He knew you’d check my sources."
Beatriz thought of the night she’d spent comparing Bruno’s leaked autopsy photos to official reports. The discrepancies had kept her awake for days.
The corpse between them was missing two fingers. The stumps looked like chewed pencil ends.
She finally picked up the planner. "He also knew I’d find you here."
Bruno’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Guess we’re all predictable."
The refrigerated drawers hummed. A gurney rattled past the door.
Beatriz tore out page sixty-three and held it over a biohazard bin. The paper trembled slightly.
Bruno struck a match. "Allow me."
The flame caught fast. They watched João’s careful handwriting curl into ash.
"Still think he’s on our side?" Bruno ground the burnt edges under his heel.
Beatriz stared at the corpse’s tag. *Unidentified. Male. 28-35.* The age Bruno would’ve been when the regime fell.
She pocketed the planner. "I think he’s on his own."
The overhead lights flickered. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor flatlined.
Bruno lit a cigarette off the dying match. "Aren’t we all?"
The night stretched on, vast and hollow and impossibly bright.