Acuña stood in place, not moving.
"Mr. President, I—"
Alarcón turned around.
"Your wife and kids are still in Guayaquil, right?"
Acuña nodded.
"Then you should go back and find them."
He paused.
"Don't be like me, staying here all alone."
Acuña was silent for a few seconds.
Then he saluted, turned around, and walked away.
The door closed.
Alarcón was left alone in the office.
He looked out the window again.
The sky was getting brighter.
The Mexican armored vehicles drew closer.
In the distance, the bell of Quito Cathedral rang—not an alarm, but morning prayer.
He remembered when he was a child, every Sunday, his mother would take him to that church for mass. It was dark inside, lit only by candles. His mother knelt in front of a pew, hands clasped, murmuring something. He couldn't understand, just staring at those candles.
Now those candles had long since extinguished.
The church remained.
His mother was gone.
