Clementina had been destroyed by someone. Despite Candado’s orders, nothing had been found. Time had passed, and silence reigned among them. Only one burning question remained in everyone’s mind: How could something like this have happened?
Before them lay the remains of Clementina—or what little was left of her. In her hand, she still clutched her memory core. Everything had been recorded. Candado watched the videos through a laptop.
Four individuals, dressed in black with an eagle emblem on their chests, had been captured by the cameras. Their faces were clear, even their voices distinguishable. Hammya’s desperate screams echoed in the recording, and Clementina’s sarcastic remarks—mocking them to her final breath—cut deep.
“You messed with the wrong people,” were her last words.
The transmission stopped.
“Agents,” Lucas murmured.
The room thickened with tension, as if the very air had soured with suppressed rage.
“What do we do now?” asked Héctor, his brow furrowed.
Candado didn’t answer. He stepped away from the laptop and walked toward the phone. He dialed a number and waited.
“Hey. It’s me. I need you to come.”
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
“Héctor, notify the traffic lights.”
“Understood.”
“Walsh, inform the O.M.G.A.B. The agents attacked a guild.”
“Right away.”
“The rest of you, keep searching... but this time, outside the town perimeter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Candado was left alone. His face was stiff with tension. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. No... he mustn’t. In moments like this, he had to stay strong. Hammya was missing, and barely an hour had passed since the incident. Finding her quickly was crucial.
He took a step to the left and stepped on something. Looking down, he saw Hammya’s violet rose brooch. He picked it up, examining it with care.
“Esmeralda…” he whispered, his voice laced with quiet sorrow.
Time passed. Nelson was the first to arrive. From the threshold, he sensed something was wrong. His intuition didn’t fail: Clementina’s broken body lay before him.
“You said you designed her,” he murmured, eyes locked on the wreckage.
“That’s right,” Nelson replied.
“I want you to rebuild her.”
“I’m afraid I must decline.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Even if I did, she wouldn’t be the same. It would be... Clementine.”
“Fine. If you won’t do it, then I will.”
“There’s no guarantee she’ll be who she was.”
“Do you have the schematics or not?”
Nelson sighed, then whispered:
“Grivna.”
A small figure emerged from his pocket—a humanoid-shaped device.
“At your service.”
“Transfer the schematics for Clementina, Version 02.”
“Understood.”
Grivna leapt onto the table, connected its right hand to the laptop, and the transfer began.
“File transferred.”
“There you go,” said Nelson.
“Thanks. You may leave now.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve got a problem with the agents.”
“So what?”
“You need my help.”
“I doubt that.”
“If the agents are involved, then so is Greg. I warned you. He’s hired hitmen, kidnapped children. This will lead me to him.”
“I’m no one to stop you… and you’ve got experience with this. So go ahead.”
“Tell me something, kid… What about your parents?”
“I won’t tell them. Mom’s pregnant, and Dad can’t do much. It’s better if they don’t know.”
“It’s too late,” said a woman’s voice behind them.
They both turned sharply.
“Mom?!”
“I heard everything from Tínbari,” replied Europa.
“He—”
“I made him tell me,” interrupted another voice.
Amabaray and Tínbari stepped in beside her.
“You’re mother and son,” she said, looking at them both. “Which means you’re both hardheaded.”
“I’m sorry,” Tínbari said to Candado.
“Hammya has been kidnapped… and Clementina destroyed,” said Europa, her face heavy with sorrow.
“Yes,” Candado confirmed, his heart shattered beneath his serious expression.
“Again…” Europa muttered, fighting the fury rising in her chest.
Her hands trembled. Her normally serene face was hardened by rage.
“Mom, calm down,” Candado said, gently but firmly.
“How can I calm down when they dared to harm my children?”
“You’re pregnant,” he reminded her. “And not only could you harm the baby… you could harm yourself. I know your past with the agents was... unpleasant. But don’t worry—she’ll be back home in less than a week.”
Everyone in the room stared at him in astonishment.
“As you heard,” he repeated with conviction, “she’ll be home—safe and sound—in less than a week.”
“Then... I’ll help,” Europa relented after a tense silence.
“Good. But from a distance,” Candado added gently.
“You worry too much…”
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Lucas, his face grave, “but unfortunately, we don’t know where they could be.”
Candado remained silent. Then, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, the idea struck him.
Stolen story; please report.
“We have a prisoner in Kanghar,” he said quickly.
“That’s... strange,” Nelson said, frowning.
“I know, old man. But it’s a solid lead. He might know where she is.”
“And if he refuses to talk?”
“Kanghar always makes prisoners talk... with the caves.”
“That’s a pretty inhumane method, if you ask me,” said Héctor.
“We need a shadow in the light,” Candado replied quietly. “That’s our motto.”
“Candado…”
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, embracing her tightly. “I’ll make sure she comes back.”
“And Clementina?”
“There’s nothing I can’t fix.”
“Please… be very careful.”
“I will,” he said, before walking away.
Candado left the country without wasting a moment. Before departing, he issued clear orders to continue the search. Thanks to Mauricio's intervention, he reached Kanghar swiftly.
He didn’t meet with his fellow “president” brothers to inform them of the situation. There was no time for protocols. He went straight to the interrogation headquarters.
There, waiting for him, was López Turner—the director. An older man, stone-faced and hard-eyed. Wise, yet devoid of empathy, laughter, or even a trace of humanity. Precisely because of that, he maintained a cordial relationship with Candado—and with no one else. The rest feared him.
“Do you need something from me?” Turner asked bluntly.
“Of course I do. I’m looking for the prisoner brought in a few days ago.”
“Curious. She explicitly said she would only speak to you.”
Candado raised an eyebrow.
“And do you know why?”
Turner shook his head.
“I see,” the young man said, crossing his arms. “Can I go in?”
“Of course you can.”
“Stop right there, Nankinjo!” a sharp voice interrupted.
Candado turned, visibly irritated.
“Oh, what now, Yuuta?”
The young man elegantly opened his fan and began to wave it as if the scene bored him.
“I can’t allow you to proceed without consulting with the rest of us. Lucky for you, I was nearby.”
“I don’t have time for this. A friend has been kidnapped, and I need information now.”
“You’re a candado, Nankinjo. And you’re not alone. Just a few months ago, you begged for help over a trivial matter, and now, when it’s serious—something involving agents—you want to act on your own? Tell me… what do you think we are?”
Candado clenched his teeth. He hated him, but he was right. He was a leader in Kanghar. Hammya, his vice, was missing. The kidnapping was a direct attack on the candados of the executive branch.
“How did you know I was here?” he asked, annoyed.
“Did you forget already? The whole island is protected by my great-grandmother’s seal. I can sense every entrance and exit.”
“I know that. But why now?”
“Simple. It never bothered me—until you came here. On a day when, coincidentally, an agent has been captured. What guarantee do we have that your actions won’t harm us?”
Candado sighed.
“Are you willing to discuss it?” Yuuta asked, now with a touch of cordiality.
Reluctantly, the young man nodded.
Some time later, the prisoner was brought into the O.M.G.A.B. meeting room. Flanked by two guards and watched closely by López Turner, she entered with a steady gait.
The candados—the “presidents”—were all present. The air was thick with tension. Before them stood an agent. A uniform stained with the ideology of those who kill without blinking. One could feel the fear… and the hate.
“I see you have something to say,” the woman said, her voice sharp.
“Samanta Ferrero. Thirty-four years old. Occupation… unknown,” one of the members read aloud.
Samanta never took her eyes off Candado. And he, cold and unblinking, returned her gaze.
“I suppose if you’re all here, it means the Patriarch succeeded,” she said gravely.
“Where is the agency?” Candado interrupted, his tone cutting.
“Calm down…” she smiled faintly. “I’ll tell you… if you do something for me.”
“You think you’re in a position to make demands?”
“You’re in a hurry,” she replied, directing her gaze squarely at Candado. “At least one of you is.”
Her words seemed to mock them, though her expression showed no sign of mockery.
“And why do you think that?” Candado asked.
“I know she matters to you.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
“So I want you to do something for me. Don’t worry, it’s not about killing or destroying. Quite the opposite… it’s a rescue.”
“You think…?”
“Let her speak,” Candado interrupted, serious.
“But, Cadenas…” Jaqueline said hesitantly.
“I know what I’m doing. If it’s a trap, I’ll survive. And I’ll let you know.”
Jaqueline stepped forward and took his hand.
“Please… this is serious.”
Candado responded by squeezing her hand firmly.
“Don’t worry.”
Then, he stared directly at Samanta.
"Who do I have to save?"
"My daughter."
The woman began to recount a story—a story from her past.
Inés Ferrero, Samanta's daughter, vanished in August of 2008. In her desperation, Samanta turned to the guilds for help, but they refused her. Humiliated and defeated, that was when the agents appeared. They had seen something in her—something hidden: hatred.
They made her false promises. If she agreed to join them, they would return her daughter. But first, she had to carry out a series of missions—the lowest, dirtiest ones they had—to prove her loyalty.
For five long years, she believed their words. Until she finally understood: they never intended to help her. She had only been a resource. A tool. And when she tried to leave, she uncovered a cruel truth: no one resigns from the agents. They fire you... but not in the best way.
Within the organization, she often heard the name Candado Barret. The leader of the guilds. Labeled a potential threat to humanity. The patriarch's order was clear: don’t interfere with him… for now.
That "for now" turned into a "never" when the agency’s director murdered the patriarch and seized control. His new strategy was to observe Candado from the shadows. But one by one, the agents who followed him began to die under mysterious circumstances.
"Did you know?" Samanta asked.
"No," Candado replied, his voice dry. "Apparently, Clementina and Tínbari took care of them."
"I see..."
Since she worked in a different office, Samanta had never seen Candado’s face. She only knew his name. So she devised a plan to earn his trust: capture the “raw specimen,” Hammya Saillim.
With her vibrant hair, Hammya was an easy figure to track. Samanta used falsified evidence to convince the new patriarch that Hammya was special—that capturing her would bring great benefit to the agency. The new leader, not particularly bright, was thrilled to hear words like “potential” and “contribution.”
The plan was to strike in Kanghar, where Hammya was supposedly at her weakest. The attack went forward—and failed. Officially, Samanta died that day. But it had all been a ruse to get closer to Candado, whose existence was rumored to hide limitless potential.
Once her mission was complete and she had been captured, all she could do was wait for the right moment. And when Candado appeared, she knew that moment had arrived.
"So it was your fault, wasn’t it?" Candado murmured.
"In other words… yes."
Candado felt a furious heat rise in his chest. His violet tattoos lit up, and his eyes burned with a vibrant purple light.
"I’ve never wanted to kill someone so badly…"
"Calm down, Candado. Don’t lose yourself," said Raúl, his cousin, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Candado took a deep breath, restraining himself at his cousin’s words.
"You think we’re going to… Sorry. You think I’m going to help you?"
"I know you will. Finding an agent’s base isn’t easy. Even if you torture me, you won’t get anything."
"I can try."
"You also know that even if you succeed… how many days would it take to extract the information? By then, your friend will already be something else."
Candado closed his eyes. His pulse throbbed with rage and anxiety.
"I’ll do it."
"What!?" Yuuta exclaimed.
"I said I’ll do it."
"We don’t know if this is a trap or a setup," Jaqueline said.
"I know she’s not lying."
"There’s a first time for everything, Candado."
"Only the insecure would dare say that to me, Yuuta."
Then Candado turned back to the woman.
"I hate that I have to do this."
He stepped closer and gripped her by the shoulders.
"What are you doing?" Samanta asked, alarmed.
Candado’s eyes began to shine intensely.
"Show me what your eyes have seen."
And then… he saw it.
A girl, barely ten years old, who saw things no one else could. To a distracted and inconsiderate father, it might’ve all seemed like imagination—just childish fears. But Inés wasn’t imagining: she saw things that terrified her, heard whispers that disturbed her, felt presences she despised.
Samanta, her mother, had considered taking her to a psychiatrist… or maybe a priest, for an exorcism. But with time, she chose to ignore it. She thought it would pass, like tantrums or mood swings.
She was wrong.
Things got worse. Inés began to scream during the night, to paint over the windows and cover the mirrors. She developed a visceral aversion to anything reflective. She spoke nonsense, refused to leave the house—refused even more to attend school. She would sleep anywhere… except in her bedroom.
Samanta, growing increasingly exhausted, became fed up with having her daughter in her bed. The child’s nightmares interrupted her rest, over and over. Until, one night, she decided to lock her in her room. She thought nothing would happen. How wrong she was.
A blood-curdling scream woke her in the middle of the night. She ran to the room… but Claudia was gone. She had vanished.
As he watched those memories, Candado delved deeper into Samanta’s mind. What he found was grotesque. Inhuman. Abhorrent.
When it was over, he shut his eyes for a few seconds, as if trying to arrange what he had seen. When he opened them, his gaze was a storm held at bay.
“…A mirror on the bedroom door,” he muttered, as blood began to stream from his eyes due to the strain.
"Your eyes! Are you okay?" Samanta cried, alarmed.
Candado pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the scarlet tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I'm fine. I just looked further than I should have."
Suddenly, he stepped forward. Everyone watched, puzzled, until he raised his hand—and struck Samanta across the face with the back of his palm.
The slap echoed through the room.
"Idiot!" he snapped.
Samanta, stunned and confused, could barely utter:
"What...?"
Candado looked at her with a mix of fury and contempt.
"I know where your daughter is. And I still wonder... are you even fit to be a mother?"
She had no answer. She simply stared at him, frozen.
"I’ll see you in two days," he said flatly.
"Where are you going?" Raúl asked, concerned.
"To find her daughter. If what I saw is real, there’s something I need to know... Where’s her house?"
A guard stepped forward, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, and handed them to Samanta. Still dazed, she quickly scribbled down the address and gave it to Candado.
He read it, smiled faintly, and murmured:
"Heh... clever. No one would suspect this place."
Without another word, he slipped the paper into his pocket and turned away.
"See you."
He walked off without looking back.
"That was interesting," Tínbari said with a crooked grin. "Right on cue."
"I need to move fast if I want to save Hammya," Candado muttered, not breaking stride.
"Need anything?"
"Take me to that house."
"Mauricio can—"
Candado grabbed him by the tie and yanked him in roughly.
"Now."
Tínbari let out a low chuckle and snapped his fingers. A dense fog began to coil around them.
"At your service, boss."
