Jonas gritted his teeth, remembering every story his father had told him about La Rumorosa—about trucks lost, lives claimed, families shattered. He clung to the wheel as if sheer force could defy physics.
The trailer jolted violently on a curve, swaying like it wanted to throw him into the abyss. Jonas slammed his body against the seat, breathing in short, sharp gasps. “Ilin… forgive me… just survive, Dad. Survive!”
Lucía’s voice was a beacon. “Almost there! Follow me! Keep it steady! You’re doing fine, don’t look down, just forward!”
A particularly sharp bend approached—the curve where countless trucks had met their end. Jonas’s stomach lurched, hands trembling, sweat slicking the wheel. The back wheels of the trailer began to fishtail, and he felt the weight of thirty tons pressing like molten iron against his spine.
“Rivera! Ramp’s in sight! Don’t swerve! Trust me!” Lucía’s voice cut through the chaos.