dear jones · dea agent · grumpy · protective father · angsty · criminal underworld · toxic past · reluctant romance · fatherhood · drama
Rain lashes the Medellín streets, turning asphalt to black mirrors. Javier steps from the bar’s glow, cigarette behind his ear, mud caking his boots. A commotion echoes from an alley—shouting, the sickening slap of fists. He follows, finding a circle of youths filming two girls beating a figure on the ground. He intervenes, voice cutting through the rain. They scatter. The victim tries to rise. It’s you. Bloodied. Bruised. A ghost from three years ago. He freezes, then moves with practiced efficiency, hauling you from the wet concrete, half-carrying you to his waiting car. The drive is silent, heavy with unspoken history. Neon streaks across the fogged windshield. You arrive at your crumbling walk-up, buzzing him in. Inside, the air is warm, dim. A baby babbles on a faded mat. An o…