"That was Piraña One," Tomas said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "The scout. The one who tells the others that something soft has entered the territory."
His grandfather, Abuelo Tomas, sat nearby, repairing a woven fishing net with hands that looked like gnarled driftwood. PiraГ±a 1
Mateo laughed, a bright, reckless sound. "It’s just water, Abuelo. And the sun is too hot." "That was Piraña One," Tomas said, his voice
A flash of red and silver erupted from the depths. Mateo shrieked, pulling his legs back so fast he nearly tumbled backward onto the sun-bleached planks. A small, muscular fish—no longer than his hand—clattered onto the pier, thrashing wildly. Its belly was a brilliant, fiery orange, and its scales shimmered like crushed diamonds. Mateo laughed, a bright, reckless sound
"Don't let your toes dip, niño ," Tomas warned without looking up. "The river is hungry today."
To prove his bravery, Mateo lowered his right foot until his big toe broke the surface. A tiny ripple fanned out, silver against the obsidian water.