The two jogged to an observation platform at the end of the runway, stopped, leaned on the railing, and gazed at the gradually awakening city skyline in the distance.
The dawn painted a golden edge on Mexico City's skyline.
It looked magnificent.
Victor performed simple stretches, rotated his wrists and ankles, and spoke as if casually, "Casare, do you think… I've stayed in Mexico City for too long?"
He turned his head, seemingly inadvertently fixing his gaze on Casare, "So long that some people down there have almost forgotten who I am, forgotten how this country has risen step by step from the ruins."
These words were light as a feather, yet they struck like lightning in Casare's heart.
His calf-stretching movement suddenly froze, his hand instinctively braced against the railing; he lifted his head and met Victor's deep gaze. Casare felt his throat tighten, and a thin layer of cold sweat broke out on his back.
