"Help me!" I screamed, my shoe sinking into cold mud as the corn leaves slapped my face.
"Shut her up," Gustavo snarled, hands moving like he had owned the space between us.
"Let her go," a voice said close and flat.
Gustavo froze. He twisted toward the voice and I kicked him hard in the shin. He doubled and swore, fingers still on my shirt. The cotton tore at the seam.
"Stop!" I shouted, yanking at his hands. My palms smelled like wet earth and old corn. My chest burned from running and from something else—fear stripped to bone.
"You can run." The voice came again. It was calm, not soft. Calm that made the corn quiet around us.
Someone grabbed Gustavo's shoulder and shoved him back so fast he staggered into a furrow. He hit the dirt with a soft grunt and shook, wiping mud from his face.
"Mind your business," Gustavo spat up, hands finding his shirt like he could pull his dignity back on. "Who are you? This ain't none of your business."
"Mind yours," the man said. He held Gustavo's shoulder like he could keep it pinned without effort. "Let her alone."
I stared at him. He was taller than the others, coat collar flapped with corn pollen. He smelled like sweat and diesel, but there was something steady in the way he held his feet. He did not smile. He did not gawk.
"Get off me," Gustavo forced out. His voice
