Still writing for fun. Allegra and Julius are still wandering through Cartaghena.
The gate didn’t swing open as supposed to. She applied more pressure. “It doesn’t open.” She needed to say it out loud.
“It could mean anything.” Julius moved to her side. “Look ahead,” he instructed her.
Allegra straightened her head. “What did you see?” At first, she had been put out by the way he used her eyes better than she did, but during the years it had proved useful. “I see things through you in a different way than you do,” he had said once without explaining much. But at the first occasion he had avoided them a punishment, she had been grateful for his ability to spot details and never questioned it again. One night, they were out of their respective quarters, way past curfew—a dare from one of their classmates, and Julius saw, before Allegra noticed, their teacher’s pointy shoes emerging from the dark corner she was staring at. That split second had allowed them to run back to their rooms, none being the wiser.
“Something moved at the end of the path.”
She focused on the dark-gray gravel covering the path that went from the entrance to the stairs leading to the porch. “I see nothing.” She opened her nose then and the faintest aroma of sandalwood reached her nostrils. “Dad!” She beat at the metal bars of the gate. “Dad!”