They spent a good time in the city. Catalina was excited the whole day, buying small things here and there, while Elizabeth simply followed her lead with a faint smile.

After running around for a while and just before reaching the church, Elizabeth stopped and said, "Hey, wait—let's sit somewhere and have a drink. I need to rest."

She wiped her forehead; even though the climate was mild, the sun still shone strong, and walking for hours had left her sweating. They found a small cookshop, a place where simple meals were served for those who didn't cook at home.

Catalina, knowing Spanish, managed to communicate better, though there were still moments of confusion here and there.

"They have soup of col and fried cod—do you want some?" asked Catalina.

Elizabeth nodded. "Sure. Though, are you sure that's what you ordered and not something else entirely?"

Catalina chuckled. "I don't think so. Our languages are a bit different, but most words sound similar enough. Unless 'bachalau' means something strange here, I think we're fine."

Elizabeth smirked. "If you're wrong, you're eating it all."

Catalina rolled her eyes but smiled. Then, after a short silence, she suddenly asked, "Do you like Francisco?"

Elizabeth startled, looked at her, immediately understanding the intent behind the question. After a moment, she answered honestly, "I don't know. I doubt it. It's more like… envy. He acts the way I always wished someone would treat me. Being an orphan, I never really had anyone who cared for me, or wanted to spend time with me.

"At first, I was just curious—he's the man who made Roman cement, something few can achieve. He makes it seem easy, but it's not. Then, watching how kindly he treated you, I think I grew envious. Maybe that's why I wanted to be close to him."

Catalina listened quietly, then asked softly, "Did you never have anyone who loved you?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Not really. Since I was a child I was trained to kill or be killed. They meant to make a perfect weapon — a machine of war — but it never quite worked with me. Much of my youth was spent learning to look after myself, so my missions tend to be transactional: an exchange of interests. That makes them less cloak-and-dagger than people imagine. I'm more a mercenary than a proper spy," she said with a melancholic look.

Catalina's eyes lit up. "When you speak of your life like that, you sound like one of those brave knights in the historical novels I read."

Elizabeth laughed, dry and low. "Believe me, my life is very far from a knight tale of love and magic."

Catalina hesitated a moment, then asked, "Can I ask another thing — is your name really Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth only smiled; the smile answered.

Catalina nodded, understanding. "What will you do when you get to England?" she pressed.

Elizabeth thought for a beat. "Keep doing the work. Carry on with the missions — it's what I do."

Catalina frowned. "Why not come to New Granada and work for us? I think you'd have a better life here."

Elizabeth's laugh had a teasing edge. "Are you trying to poach me from the richest power on Earth?"

Catalina blushed, sheepish. "You're right. I don't suppose we could pay your salary."

Elizabeth's amusement softened. "Forget hiring me. Aren't you worried I'd steal Francisco from you? If I worked for him, I'd spend more time with him — who knows, he might fall for my charms."

Catalina snorted. "If that had been possible the night you and he slept together, he would've fallen already. The fact he didn't — and that the first thing he did was tell me everything — proves he won't. Besides, I'm stronger than he is. If he ever cheats, I'll teach him a lesson."

She balled her fists in mock menace.

Elizabeth laughed so loudly it drew glances from the other patrons. "You're stronger? I'd like to see that."

Catalina grinned. "I was always the one defending him when we were children. Some of the scions in Bogotá liked to mock him, and I never stood for it. I always made those spoiled brats cry — though my grandmother punished me every time. Francisco would just follow me around afterward, looking at me with that grateful smile of his."

Elizabeth, fascinated, ate alongside Catalina, listening to the embarrassing stories about Francisco's childhood. Their laughter filled the little cookshop, and by the time they finished lunch, the two women had grown noticeably closer.

After finishing their meal, Catalina stretched and said, "Alright, let's go. I'm curious about this center of religion in Ponta Delgada."

Elizabeth nodded, paid the bill, and together they stepped out into the street, still talking and laughing as they made their way toward the church.

Afterward, they headed toward the Igreja Matriz de São Sebastião. When they reached it, Catalina stopped in awe.

"This church doesn't seem to follow just one architectural style," she said. "Do you know anything about it?"

Elizabeth, putting on a proud expression, replied, "Of course I do. I was taught a few things about architecture — though not specifically about this church. Still, I'd say it looks like a mixture that developed over several centuries."

Catalina rolled her eyes. "So you also don't really know what styles these are, do you?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Not a clue. It's my first time here."

Catalina shook her head and entered the church.

A priest stood at the center of the hall, likely preparing for the next Saturday mass. Upon noticing them, he smiled warmly.

"My dear daughters, welcome to my church. Have you come for something special?" he asked in authentic Portuguese.

Catalina replied awkwardly in Spanish, "Sorry, Father — could you speak a little slower? I can understand, but only if you talk slowly."

The priest looked surprised to see two young Spanish women in his church. Most Spaniards who visited were businessmen — older men or young apprentices seeking fortune. He thought to himself, They might be noble ladies traveling through Portugal.

Switching to perfect Spanish, he said, "Don't worry, I also speak Spanish. We often receive many visitors from your country — after all, we are neighbors."

Relieved, the two women began asking the priest questions about the church and its history.

As they spoke, the sun began to descend beyond the horizon, and the moon slowly rose, as if ready to take the sun's place in the sky.

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