Because as I passed Diego, I paused for a moment.

I adjusted his coat as if fixing something.

And slipped the small device deeper into his pocket.

He didn’t notice.

But I did.

The faint click.

As I stepped outside the cemetery gates, my phone vibrated.

The signal was active.

That tiny movement…

would reveal everything.

I didn’t return home.

I couldn’t.

It was no longer mine.

Instead, I sat in a quiet café near Buenavista station, staring at my phone.

The vibration wasn’t random.

Inside Diego’s coat was a tracker.

One Eduardo had used during business trips.

I had taken it that morning without thinking too much.

Because deep down…

I knew something wasn’t right.

The app showed movement.

From the cemetery…

to the city center.

He wasn’t grieving.

He was moving forward.

I remembered something.

Eduardo’s office.

The safe hidden behind the painting.

And something else—

Weeks before he died, he had given me his email password.

And a number.

A safety deposit box.

“If anything strange happens,” he had said, “trust what I left outside the house.”

At the time, I thought he was being overly cautious.