You told them not to touch her.
And when she looked up at you with frightened eyes too old for her face, you handed her the formula and told her to go home.
Then you walked away.
That is what everyone thought.
Ten minutes later, you were driving slowly through the rain with your headlights dimmed, following the small silhouette of the little girl as she hurried through streets the wealthy shoppers at Mercado Estrella would never enter with their windows down. Guadalajara glittered in certain neighborhoods at night, all glass towers and restaurants and curated elegance. But this part of the city seemed to exist on the other side of that illusion. Here, the pavement cracked, the gutters overflowed, and the darkness between streetlamps looked almost personal.
The girl moved fast for someone so small.
