Catalina saw Francisco's face and understood how deeply shaken he was. This was probably the first time he had come so close to death. Unable to restrain herself, she hugged him tightly, tears running down her cheeks.

Elizabeth, awakened by the sound of crying, groaned in irritation. "Honestly… the kid's fine! You shouldn't be crying over him — you should be worried about me. He's not exactly light, you know."

Catalina laughed softly through her tears. Francisco smiled too, looking into Elizabeth's eyes. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "I owe you my life. If you ever need anything, anything at all, I'll help you with everything I have."

Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity, then nodded solemnly. "I hope you remember that when the day comes and I ask you for something."

Just then, the door burst open with a loud bang. Ramiro's booming voice filled the cabin. "Kid! I'm glad you're alive. If something had happened to you, your father would've hung me from his estate gates!"

Francisco chuckled. "Thanks, Uncle Ramiro. I'm fine — Elizabeth saved me. You should thank her."

Ramiro turned to Elizabeth and gave a gruff nod. "To be honest, girl, I was suspicious of you at first. Thought you might bring us trouble. But after this… I'll admit it — I'm grateful. Without you, this boy would be at the bottom of the ocean. If you ever need my help or this old ship's, don't hesitate to call."

Elizabeth smiled faintly and shook his hand.

Ramiro continued, his tone lightening. "We'll be staying in Portugal for a while while the ship's repaired. If you two want to stretch your legs, go to Ponta Delgada. I hear they're famous for their orange groves — though we're a bit late for harvest, you might still find a few."

Francisco nodded with a tired smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll rest for a few days." He looked at Catalina and Elizabeth. "You two should go and explore. You've been cooped up on this ship since we left New Granada almost three months ago. You deserve a break."

Catalina hesitated. "But… are you sure? Maybe I should stay with you."

Francisco shook his head gently. "I'll be fine. I plan to sleep for days anyway. The doctor's nearby if I need help. Besides, Portugal is full of color — people here look more like you, Tan-skinned, and they don't have those rigid caste rules like in Spain. Compared to the UK, this place is much freer. Go see it. And write down what you find — I want to hear everything."

Catalina clearly wanted to go but still looked reluctant. With a sigh of impatience, Elizabeth grabbed her arm. "Don't worry, kid. I'll look after her. You rest — we're having a girls' day to ourselves."

Francisco smiled faintly. "Wait — take some pesos with you, just in case. And maybe a few servants for protection."

Elizabeth waved him off. "I can protect both of us just fine. But I'll take the pesos."

Ignoring Catalina's protests, she pulled her out of the cabin, their laughter fading down the corridor as the door closed behind them.

The cabin fell silent once more. Francisco made himself comfortable and finally drifted into sleep, the pain in his head still throbbing faintly.

Outside the ship, Catalina eventually gave up resisting. "Alright, alright," she said with a sigh. "I'll go with you. But at least let me wash my face and change my clothes."

Elizabeth smirked, a triumphant look on her face. "Already thought of that. We'll head to an inn — bathe and change there. If we walk out dressed as women now, the whole point of disguising ourselves as men would be ruined."

Catalina rolled her eyes, realizing there was no way to argue her way out of it. With reluctant amusement, she followed Elizabeth toward the inn. They rented a private room, bathed, and changed into fresh clothes before stepping out into the streets of Ponta Delgada.

Their destination was the Igreja Matriz de São Sebastião, the grand religious heart of the city. The Portuguese, like the Spaniards, were devout Catholics, and Catalina — raised under the same faith as most mestizas in New Granada — felt an odd sense of familiarity in the distant colony of another empire.

As they walked through the cobbled streets, Catalina glanced around curiously. "It's strange," she said after a while. "No one seems to notice that I'm mestiza."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Your skin tone isn't that dark — more like Tan. Pretty common in the Caribbean, actually. And here in Portugal, there's no caste system like in Spain or the colonies. People don't walk around trying to classify others. Unless someone was specifically looking for a mestiza and knew the exact features to spot, no one would ever suspect you. Honestly, you don't look that different from the Spaniards in the south."

Catalina smiled faintly at that. Her Tan skin and faint Pijao features had always made her self-conscious — hearing Elizabeth say she didn't look so different was unexpectedly comforting.

As they turned onto a wide avenue, Catalina's eyes widened. "This place is so… luxurious." The buildings gleamed white in the sun, their façades lined with dark volcanic stone. Everything looked pristine, orderly — elegant in a way she had never seen before. "It's like another world," she murmured. "These people must be rich."

Elizabeth smirked. "You think this is luxurious? I can't wait to see your reaction when we reach England."

Catalina ignored the teasing. "I've lived in New Granada all my life," she said quietly. "This really is the most luxurious city I've ever seen. Even Cartagena can't compare." She glanced up at the ornate church ahead. "Of course… I've never seen London, so maybe I'll be even more amazed when we get there."

Elizabeth smiled, lost in thought. Even if London is bigger and richer, she mused, for some reason it always feels cold—perhaps Catalina isn't wrong, perhaps this place truly is better.

While Elizabeth was still absorbed in her thoughts, Catalina suddenly took her hand and pulled her forward, her eyes gleaming with excitement like a child discovering something new. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile and let herself be guided toward the church, their steps echoing softly against the cobbled street.

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