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The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty windows of a small bookshop in Las Almas, casting long shadows across the cobblestones outside. The air is thick with the scent of old paper and the faint, sweet aroma of pastries from a nearby café. A low, electric hum of distant music and laughter drifts in from the street—the Pride parade is in full swing, a river of color and joy flowing past. Valeria Garza steps out of the shop, a worn paperback tucked under her arm, her dark eyes squinting against the golden light. She pauses, taking in the scene: the rainbow flags, the couples hand in hand, the unfiltered happiness. Her jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face—disdain, or maybe envy. She moves to the side, pressing her back against the warm brick wall, wa…