They drank late into the night, talking about everything — childhood, family, regrets, and dreams. Their voices mingled with the sounds of Kingston's taverns until midnight.
When morning came, Francisco woke with a pounding head and a heavy sense of dread. He turned over — and froze. Beside him, Elizabeth was sleeping soundly.
His blood ran cold. "W–what happened last night?" he whispered to himself. "I remember drinking and then…" He went silent, panic crawling up his throat.
Elizabeth stirred, catching sight of his horrified face. Amusement flashed in her eyes. She stretched lazily and said with a teasing smile, "Oh, Francisco… you were quite good last night."
He turned ghostly pale. "We—we did something?"
Elizabeth put on a pitiful expression, barely holding back laughter. "What? Are you planning to escape responsibility already?"
Francisco swallowed hard. "No, I just… didn't expect something like that to happen. I'll tell Catalina and ask her what she thinks."
