I was going to ticket him for driving 142 km/h, but when I saw that scar on his temple, my blood ran cold. It was him. The man who saved me 12 years ago… and now fate was asking me to return the favor.

Carmen turned around and ran to her motorcycle. She wasn’t going to write a ticket today. Today she was going to pay a debt. She turned on the sirens, not with the tone of “stop,” but with the wail of a full-scale emergency, and launched herself into traffic, clearing a path like an icebreaker on a frozen sea.

The journey was a blur of blue lights and risky maneuvers. Carmen drove with surgical precision, forcing cars to move aside, creating a lane where none existed. In the rearview mirror, she saw the black BMW glued to her wheel, trusting her completely.

“Come on, Diego, don’t fall behind,” she whispered from inside the helmet.

Every second counted. Carmen knew she was breaking half a dozen regulations. Her partner was yelling at her over the radio, asking what the hell she was doing escorting a civilian at that speed without authorization. She turned off the radio. She couldn’t explain that this man had given her a second life and that she wasn’t going to let him lose his.

They arrived at the emergency room entrance of La Paz Hospital at 2:54 p.m. Six minutes before the deadline.