Miguel stared after the retreating figures with a dumbfounded expression, his lips pale and trembling.
"Are they… really abandoning Santa Fe?" he whispered weakly. "They aren't joking, are they?"
Behind him, one of the servants tightened his grip on Miguel's shoulder and nodded grimly. "Yes, sir. They're gone. Once the dragoons withdrew, the city was finished. We must leave now. At least the troops you sent to Matorral should still be safe."
Miguel exhaled slowly, the breath rattling in his chest. His hands moved in a dismissive gesture, though his fingers shook from pain and exhaustion. "I can't move far. Help me into the city first. I'll find somewhere to hide."
He paused, thinking hard despite the dizziness clouding his thoughts. "There's a Gómez family associate working in La Pesa. It's a lower-caste district—dockworkers, mule drivers, laborers. No one will look twice at me there. I can survive."
The servant nodded without hesitation. "As you say, sir."
