**English version of the WATTYS 2019 WINNER story**
1672, Caribbean Sea.
He lost everything for her. She risked everything for him.
But maybe love is not enough to bridge over so many deep differences between them, and the only way for them is goodb...
The storm swept Campeche and the wind seemed determined to push her out of her way. But that night, nor God, nor the Devil could stop her. She should've told so to the poor bastards of the patrol that tried to cut her off at the Main Square. She strode down the empty streets in the squall, followed by her lieutenant and her two most-trusted men. She didn't need anybody else with her.
She walked past the nunnery, as the bells let out faltering rings in the gale. She was so close. Her heart drummed in her chest for a moment when she spotted the house she was looking for, and she guided her men around the corner to sneak through the side entrance. They stopped by the hedge to the dark garden, beaten by the storm. Her heart was back to a regular rate, and an icy calm ran through her veins.
"Where are the thugs this time?" she murmured, scanning the shadows.
"Let us go first," her lieutenant said.
"You're coming with me, Wan. Laventry, Harry, find the thugs and take care of them."
"Aye, aye."
Her men moved with their trademark lethal stealth and she led her lieutenant toward a tamarind tree that stretched some branches over the hedge. A moment later they were in the garden, in time to hear the muffled groans when Laventry and Harry put the thugs down. They reached the side door in a flash. It was locked, but she only needed to slip her misericorde between the door and the frame to unlock it.
They sneaked into the empty kitchen and she pointed at the door leading to the servants' quarters.
"Nobody comes through," she said.
"We can barricade it. Allow me to go with you."
"No, Wan. Castillano is only mine. Wait here with the others. I'll call you if I need you."
Wan Claup nodded with a concerned grimace. She smiled at him one last time, unsheathed her sword and left the kitchen toward the main rooms of the house.
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A branch of the tamarind tree snapped in the storm and fell, hitting Castillano's window. He jolted awake for the second night in a row. He got up and approached the window to see what had happened. A lightning glared under the clouds, lightening the garden up like broad daylight for a heartbeat. Castillano stepped back with a chill. What was that? What was that pale shape, moving from the hedge to the side door.
In the silence following the thunder, he clearly heard the kitchen door opening to the daily dining room. He hurried out of his room. The soldier had passed out in the armchair.
The opening door had also waken Alma up, since her room was by the daily dining room. Both of them reached the main hall at the same time, from different sides, and froze where they stood, the constant glare showing their shocked faces.
In the middle of the main hall, the soaking nightgown stuck to her body, Marina stood with her face to the gallery, and the swords arrays that still hung there on the wall. The missing blade was in her hand.
