Expats: Los Guiris - Pilot

A Substack TV Show

LOGLINE: When a young woman disappears after a festival in Castellón, a dysfunctional group of expats and locals set out on an impulsive road trip across Spain to find her, each with their own secrets, motives, and growing doubts about whether she wants to be found at all.

Now, it’s time for pilot. Substack doesn’t have proper script formatting, but if you would like an .fdx or PDF format, please send me a DM. All paid subscribers have access.

For those who don’t speak Spanish, I’ve included translations in a smaller font to not distract bilingual readers.

FADE IN

EXT. PARK PANDEROL - EL GRAO DE CASTELLON - SUNSET/NIGHT

Silence. Swallows swarm through the sky above Park Panderol. The fully grown London Plane’s green leaves pop in the early summer sunset. More birds emerge from the tree, flying above the beige and brick apartment buildings.

CAMERA SWEEPS down through the sand-filled streets: shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, everyone slick with sweat.

As we continue through the streets, fast-forwarding through time, the sunset turns to night, and more people fill the streets.

The silence gives way to a chaotic orchestra of HORNS, FIRECRACKERS and pounding DRUMS. A PANDEMONIUM of hundreds of SPECTATORS sitting on the wooden bleachers and standing in metal cages surrounding the dozens of CORREDORES (RUNNERS).

Near the barricades, NOE SOLER GARCIA (24) watches, eyes locked on a wooden crate in the middle of the street. She’s radiant in the worst and best ways — half-transfixed, half-feral. Her hair is damp, face streaked with glitter and sweat.

She LAUGHS unsettlingly, looking directly into the camera.

NOE

No seas un cagón y métete, coño.

Don't be such a coward, go for it!

CAMERA CUTS TO:

Then back to her grin that cracks to reveal a seductive sadness.

We hear CHEERS as Noe continues to stare.

We can’t see MATEO VAN DE BROEK (32), but his gravelly, sensual voice hints at his cultured intellect and charming demeanour.

MATEO (O.S.)

Vale, vale.

Okay, okay.

The camera reveals Mateo’s POV as he jumps from the bleachers and joins the corredores--some stretch and some laugh.

The crowd CHEERS even louder as the ANNOUNCER (40) walks along the street, holding a microphone.

ANNOUNCER

¡Atención, atención! ¡Se va a proceder a la suelta del toro embolado!

Attention, attention! The release of the fire-horned bull is about to begin!

EL PASTOR opens the wooden crate, guiding the bull out onto the street.

ANNOUNCER

¡Desde del Grao... llega 'Valiente', de la ganadería X! ¡Un toro con fuerza, con fuego, y con honor!

All the way from El Grao… it’s ‘Valiente’, from the X ranch! A bull of strength, of flame, and of honor!

El pastor lights the horns on fire, and--

Quick FLASH:

— A discarded religious pamphlet trampled underfoot. The cover shows a blank-eyed Christ under the words: “Solo los que buscan serán encontrados.”

— A strange symbol graffitied on a shutter: an open eye surrounded by flames.

— A blurry figure in the crowd — still, watching Noe. Hood up. Face unreadable. Gone in a blink.

Silence. We only see the people screaming. We can only assume the announcer says:

ANNOUNCER

¡A la cuenta de tres...

On the count of three.

(beat)

Uno!

The crowd joins in.

CROWD

Dos!

(beat)

Tres!

El pastor releases the bull and--

CUT TO:

INT. BAR ALDEA - CASTELLON DE LA PLANA - DAY

Mateo sits at a table with his eyes closed and a drink in his right hand. His left arm is in a sling.

Across the table sits MARÍA (36), a charismatic Colombian whose compelling presence seems to tower over the others. Beside her is LAILA FLORES RIVERA (28), a sharp-witted local artist with an understated bohemian style. Completing the trio is EMMA SMITH (26), a bubbly yoga teacher with an influencer persona that masks a deeper, emotionally chaotic interior.

MARÍA

(Columbian accent)

Hey Mateo, ¿Donde estas? Are you okay?

Mateo opens his eyes slowly, wincing. He takes a long sip of his drink.

MATEO

(English & Dutch accent)

Aquí. Estoy aquí. Mi brazo me molesta un poco, pero estoy bien.

Here. I’m here. My arm’s bother me a bit, but I’m okay.

EMMA

(Slight Manchester accent)

Serves you right for being a show-off, Mateo. What were you thinking, running with those bulls? Mad.

Mateo waves her off dismissively.

MATEO

Fue... una experiencia. Intensa.

It was… an experience. An intense one.

LAILA

(Castellano Spanish)

Intensa es una forma de decirlo. Parecías un fantasma cuando te sacaron de allí. Y la Noe, ¿dónde está ella? Se metió en un lío contigo, ¿no?

Intense’ is one way to put it. You looked like a ghost when they pulled you out of there. And Noe — where is she? She got caught up in that mess with you, didn’t she?

The mention of Noe hangs in the air. A beat of uncomfortable silence. Emma fidgets with her phone. María glances at the entrance of the bar.

Just then, JAKE CONROY (26), a slick remote tech bro, saunters in, eyes immediately scanning the room. He carries a small, professional-looking camera.

JAKE

(American accent)

What’s up, team? Just finished scouting some killer spots for the next Insta story. Did I miss anything? Anything… viral? Or at least anything as viral as Mateo getting his ass handed to him by a bull.

Jake takes out his iPhone 16 Pro.

INSERT – JAKE’S PHONE: TIKTOK REEL

VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

SFX: Distant firecrackers, cowbells, and shouting. REGGAETON MUSIC layered underneath, slightly distorted.

CAMERA SHAKES as it follows the chaos of the Toro Embolado run.

ANGLE ON:

A bull barrels down the narrow street, its horns ablaze.

MATEO enters frame — clearly drunk, arms out like he’s trying to impress someone.

SOMEONE OFFSCREEN (O.S.)

¡Está loco, tío!

A split-second later, the bull clips Mateo’s side — not a full gore, but hard enough to send him spinning into a vendor table.

GASPS, SCREAMS, LAUGHTER erupt from all sides. Someone yells, “¡Hostia puta!”

People crowd toward the camera, laughing, pointing. One woman fans herself. Another yells, “¡El guiri está vivo, está vivo!”

The camera zooms in on Mateo, sprawled, groaning.

MUSIC CUTS OUT.

END VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Jake grins, but his eyes are calculating. He pulls up a chair, a little too close to Emma.

JAKE

Absolute fire, Mateo.

Mateo GROANS and takes another sip of his beer.

EMMA

Noe’s still gone, Jake. I doubt you care since it’s not really content for your feed, is it?

JAKE

Woah, easy there, Emma. Just asking. I’m concerned, you know? She’s, like, part of the… community.

TIMA IVANENKO (22, Ukrainian), a brilliant but cold engineering student, enters. He’s carrying a backpack and looks preoccupied. He nods curtly at the group and heads straight for the bar, pulling out a small, intricately designed earring from his pocket. He looks at it, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before quickly stuffing it back into his bag. He orders a drink from DAVID ALDEA (41, Spanish/Romanian), the disillusioned academic turned bartender.

David, leaning against the counter, is wiping down glasses. He watches the group with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

DAVID

(Castellano Spanish)

Más vale que no la busquéis, a la guiri esa. Siempre dando problemas. Estos putos guiris vienen en chanclas con calcetines y luego desaparecen.

You’d better not go looking for that foreign chick. Always causing trouble. These damn tourists show up in socks and sandals and then vanish.

David glances pointedly at Jake’s trendy sandals and socks. Jake doesn't understand Spanish, but he gets the gist of the look.

JAKE

(To Emma)

What’d he say? Something about my… fashion choices?

EMMA

Just David being David. Ignore him.

JAKE

Well, tell him to get me one of the Spanish Sangria things.

EMMA

Sangria is Spanish.

JAKE

Yeah, but the cheap, fruitless version they actually drink here.

EMMA

Tinto de Verano?

JAKE

Yeah, that.

(to David)

Un Pinto de Verano, por favor.

David cringes at Jake’s Spanish.

MARÍA

(to David)

Noe no es una "guiri", David. Es de aquí. Y no está dando problemas. Está… desaparecida.

She isn’t a “guiri,” David. She’s from here. And she isn’t causing problems. She’s… missing.

DAVID

(Shrugs, muttering in Romanian)

Acesti straini prosti…

These stupid foreigners...

Emma takes a sip of tea.

EMMA

If there’s anything that would chase me away, it’s the red tape in this country. I tried to get a doctor’s note for heat exhaustion last week. They needed a cita previa, two copies of my NIE, and a signature from someone who doesn’t exist.

Cita previa = scheduled government appointment.

MATEO

You need a miracle, not a médico.

Médico = doctor.

EMMA

I’d settle for a receptionist who doesn't say "vuelva mañana."

Vuelva mañana = return tomorrow.

MATEO

The real secret is becoming a funcionario, so you can pretty much do whatever you want and not get fired.

Funcionario = government worker.

Suddenly, the front door of the bar opens, and INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ (50), conservative on the outside, suppressed and perverted on the inside, walks in. He’s calm, unhurried, and quietly suspicious. The chatter in the bar dies down slightly.

MATEO

(whisper to Emma)

Talking about funcionarios.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

(Calm, professional Spanish)

Buenas tardes. Disculpen la interrupción. Solo una visita informal. Entiendo que todos aquí conocían a Noe Soler Garcia.

Good afternoon. Sorry to interrupt. This is just an informal visit. I understand everyone here knew Noe Soler García.

He looks directly at the table where the expats are sitting. A palpable tension settles over the group.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

(to David)

Un café.

A coffee.

David doesn’t need to look at his hands to know what he’s doing. His eyes stay fixed on the inspector.

EMMA

(forcing a smile)

Inspector. Yes, we all know Noe. Lovely girl. Bit quiet, as you know.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

No entiendo--

I don’t understand.

JAKE

Quiet! That bitch be loud AF.

EMMA

Sarcasm, Jake. It’s something you Americans don’t understand.

MATEO

Meh, take a Yanks optimism away and they’re one step closer to sounding like you Brits.

JAKE

I’ve spent half my life in the UAE, Mateo. You’re the Canadian--that’s like half American, half British, all nothing.

MATEO

My mom’s Mexican--

MARIA

But white.

MATEO

And my dad’s Dutch. Plus, you went to an American school in Dubai, Jake.

JAKE

Well yeah. You ain’t getting me into some Muslim school. I need to be able to touch women.

(to inspector Beltrán)

In a totally respectful and legal way, of course, officer.

Beltrán’s amazed at the conversation, not quite sure he understands. He switches his attention to Mateo.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

Y tu, Mateo. ¿Tuviste algún contacto con ella en el festival? Su brazo, parece… reciente.

And you, Mateo. Did you have any contact with her at the festival? Her arm… it looks recent.

Mateo shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

MATEO

Inspector Beltrán, amigo. ¿Cuanto tiempo, no?

Inspector Beltrán, friend. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Inspector Beltrán waits for a useful response.

MATEO

Pues, sí, la vi. En la fiesta del toro. Pero… con toda la gente, ya sabe. Y el brazo… fue un accidente. Nada que ver con Noe.

Yeah, I saw her. At the bull festival. But… with all the people, you know how it is. And the arm… it was an accident. Nothing to do with Noe.

Beltrán nods slowly, his eyes sweeping over each face at the table. He takes out a small notebook.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

¿Alguno de ustedes ha recibido algún mensaje de ella? ¿O han escuchado algo inusual?

Have any of your received a strange message from her? Or heard something unusual?

JAKE

Is he asking us if we know anything?

María nods.

JAKE

(Too quickly)

Nope! Nothing here. My personal DMs are dry. All business lately. Are you looking to get into crypto?

Inspector Beltrán looks at Jake, both confused and unimpressed.

David brings Inspector Beltrán his coffee, his hand trembling slightly. Inspector Beltrán notices.

LAILA

Yo no. La última vez que la vi fue en el festival. Estaba con Mateo.

Not me. The last time I saw her was at the festival. She was with Mateo.

Inspector Beltrán Sanchez looks over at Tima sitting at the bar.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

Señor Ivanenko, su familia llegó hace poco, ¿verdad?

Señor Ivanenko, your family arrived recently, correct?

TIMA

¿Cómo sabes mi nombre?

How do you know my name?

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHE

Todas las últimas publicaciones de Noe en las redes fueron con este grupo.

All of Now’s last social media posts where with this group.

Tima glances at Emma, accusingly.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

¿Fue complicado el papeleo? ¿Cuenta bancaria, padrón, visado? ¿Noe le ayudó con algo de eso?

Was the paperwork complicated? Bank account, residency registration, visa? Did Noe help you with any of that?

TIMA

(dry)

No. Nunca hablamos de eso.

No. We never spoke about any of that.

Beltrán doesn’t respond. Just sips his coffee.

Then — silently — he picks up a crumpled napkin from the table, smooths it out, and studies it. Meaningless, but he does it intentionally.

His eyes rest a moment longer on MARÍA.

Then on TIMA again.

Emma’s phone buzzes. She quickly checks it, her eyes widening slightly. It’s a voice note from Emma’s Instagram burner account. A shaky, distorted voice.

NOE (O.S., V.O. DISTORTED)

Tuve que pillarme. Ni se te ocurra seguirme.

I had to split. Don’t even think about following me.

Emma quickly shoves her phone into her pocket, a panicked look on her face. She tries to maintain a poker face, but her eyes betray her.

EMMA

Voy al baño un momento.

I’m going to the washroom for a moment.

She disappears into the hallway.

Meanwhile, Tima, who has been quietly nursing his beer at the bar, feels the earring in his pocket. He looks at his reflection in the polished bar top, then subtly glances at the group. He hides it deeper in his bag.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SANCHEZ

Es importante que cualquier información, por pequeña que sea, se comparta con las autoridades.

It’s important that all information, however minor, be reported to the authorities

María, looking at the Inspector, then at the group, suddenly speaks up, her voice a little too casual.

MARÍA

Bueno, hay mucha gente en España que… desaparece. Algunos se van con grupos. Comunidades nuevas, ¿sabes? Como sectas. Noe… a veces hablaba de cosas así.

Well, there are a lot of people in Spain who… go missing. Some leave with groups. New communities, you know? Like cults. Noe… she used to talk about things like that sometimes.

Her eyes flick towards Mateo, who pales slightly.

FLASHBACK – EXT. BAR TERRACE – NIGHT

A hazy night. We only see the back of a MAN leaning toward NOE.

MAN

There’s this place in Aragón where the mountains feed your soul and keep the sheep out.

Noe says nothing. Just watches him.

BACK TO PRESENT

Mateo gulps his drink, hard.

Inspector Beltrán fixes his gaze on María.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN

¿Tiene algún detalle sobre estas "comunidades"?

Do you have some detail about these “communities.?”

MARÍA

(Shrugs, feigning innocence)

Solo chismes. De la calle. Cosas de… gente buscando algo diferente.

Just gossip. Street talk. Stuff about… people looking for something different.

Beltrán sighs, a hint of weariness in his eyes.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN

Entendido. Bueno, les agradezco su tiempo. Si recuerdan algo, ya saben dónde encontrarme.

I understand: Well, I appreciate your time. If your remember something, you know where to find me.

He gives one last, lingering look at the group before turning and leaving the bar.

As the door closes, the tension in the room explodes.

MATEO

¿Porque le contaste algo sobre comunidadas nuevas?

Why did you tell him something about new communities?

MARÍA

La policia me pone nerviosa.

Police make me nervous.

MATEO

Pero, ¿Piensas que ella esta con un grupo así?

But, do you think she’s with a group like that?

MARÍA

No sé... I wish I hadn’t said anything. I’m not sure I want the cops looking for her.

Emma walks back into the scene.

EMMA

(Whispering, pulling her phone out)

Oh my god, guys. I just got a message. From Noe. She said, "Tuve que pillarme. Ni se te ocurra seguirme."

I had to split. Don’t even think about following me.

The group stares at her, stunned.

JAKE

(Eyes wide)

No way! Seriously?

LAILA

¿Y no se lo has dicho al policía? ¡Emma!

And you didn’t tell the cop? Emma!

EMMA

(Defensive)

Well, what would he do? She said don’t follow. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. But… she sounded… troubled.

MATEO

I remember it. That night... at the festival. There was a man. He spoke of a community. In Aragon. Something... spiritual.

María looks at Mateo, her expression unreadable. Tima, from the bar, watches them intently.

EMMA

(A sudden burst of energy)

Aragón... We have to go after her. Not the police. Us.

DAVID

(From the bar, scoffing)

¿Vosotros? ¿Ir a buscarla? ¡Qué tontería! Os vais a meter en un lío.

You guys! Go look for her? What a joke! You’re going to end up in a mess.

JAKE

(Excited, already pulling out his camera)

A road trip! This could be epic!

LAILA

No sé, Emma. La policía...

I don’t know, Emma. The police…

EMMA

I’m going. Who’s with me?

A beat of silence.

DAVID

(beat, bitter)

¿Y qué vais a hacer? ¿Una búsqueda espiritual con GPS? ¿Os pensáis que los perdidos quieren ser encontrados?

And what are you going to do? A spiritual quest with GPS? You really think the lost want to be found?

MATEO

Simplemente no quieres perder a tus mejores clientes.

You just don’t want to lose your best clients.

DAVID

Ella no es una víctima. Y vosotros no sois héroes.

She’s not a victim. And you guys aren’t heroes.

Mateo looks at María, then at Emma.

MATEO

I’m in.

Emma beams.

MARÍA

(A hint of worry in her eyes)

Yo manejo.

I’ll drive.

Jake is already filming himself, narrating.

VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Jake looks at the camera/at us.

JAKE

So, looks like we’re embarking on an epic quest. Early stage of the journey. There’s no refusal to the call when you’re with “yes” people.

(whispers)

Hashtag, finding Noe.

END VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

María glares at Jake.

JAKE

I’ll delete that video right away.

(whisper)

Maybe.

Laila scans the room, a slight smile breaking through her worry when her eyes meet Mateo’s.

LAILA

Vale. Pero si la cosa se pone fea, yo me bajo.

Okay. But if things turn ugly, I’m out.

Tima walks over from the bar, his expression still unreadable.

TIMA

I don’t trust any of you. But I’m coming. Someone needs to keep you out of trouble.

LAILA

You’re the youngest of all of us.

TIMA

And somehow still the most mature.

EMMA

María could be your mother.

Tima blushes, unable to hide his attraction.

David watches them, shaking his head. He wipes down the bar with exaggerated slowness.

DAVID

(to himself)

¡Por fin! No voy a tener a ese grupo de putos guiris en mi bar.

Finally! I’m not going to have a fucking group of foreigners in my bar.

LATER THAT DAY...

INT. EMMA’S APARTMENT – LATE AFTERNOON

Emma reorganizes her living room in a flurry. Books. Yoga mat. Charger cords. Too many essential oils. She mutters to herself as she dumps things into an open duffel.

EMMA

No heavy fabrics. Hydration. Two crystals. Why does everything feel like a bad omen?

Among the rubble in the duffel bag, there’s a picture of a TWO-YEAR-OLD BOY sitting in a pile of leaves in a park. She picks it up, a bittersweet look on her face.

A KNOCK at the door.

Emma quickly stuffs the picture in her pocket and opens the door: Maria, holding a paper bag and wearing sunglasses indoors.

EMMA

Oh--hey.

MARÍA

You texted. Said “logistics.” That usually means you’re spiralling.

EMMA

I’m not spiralling, I’m... staging.

MARÍA

Mmm. Claro.

María pulls two beers and a tight joint from the bag. Cracks one open.

MARÍA

We don’t need a plan. We just need movimiento.

EMMA

So you’re really in?

MARÍA

Obvio. I’ll drive. Tengo la furgo, musica, and summer’s started, so school’s out and I don’t need to counsel anymore private school teens.

La furgo = van.

(beat)

But I’m not babysitting gringos con complejo de salvador.

Con complejo de salvador = with a saviour complex.

EMMA

Fair.

María scans the room. She grabs a sarong from the pile

MARÍA

Mija, esta ni tapa ni abrgiga ¿Para qué?

Sweetie, this doesn’t cover you or keep you warm. What’s the point?

EMMA

It’s for vibes.

MARÍA

It’s for Instagram.

EMMA

Exactly.

MARÍA

(sits on the bed)

You're packing like a white girl on a panic trip.

EMMA

That’s literally what this is.

MARÍA

You don’t need half of estas cosas.

EMMA

Says the woman who packed nothing but eyeliner and duct tape for Valencia.

MARÍA

Oh, I packed a lot more than that.

EMMA

Like what?

MARÍA

Olvidálo.

EMMA

Reckon we all came with a bit of baggage, didn’t we?

Beat.

MARÍA

And none of us really chose to be here.

EMMA

Who chooses Castellón?

MARÍA

People who can’t afford Valencia.

EMMA

I’m actually starting to like it more here. Better beaches, less crowded--

MARÍA

Plus, you get to mas guapa que la mayoría.

Plus, you get to look hotter than the majority.

Emma is about to rebut, but then realizes it’s true.

MARÍA

But really... why do you want to do this?

Why are you going?

EMMA

To find her. Obviously.

MARÍA

No.

Emma keeps folding, but her hands are slower now.

EMMA

Because she messaged me.

MARÍA

Because you need to be the one who fixes it.

EMMA

(sharper now)

You don’t know me.

MARÍA

Claro que sí. I do. You’re the helper. The good girl. But also the one who needs to be needed.

Claro que sí = of course.

EMMA

And what, you're going just to drive? To flirt? To what?

Beat.

MARÍA

Maybe she wants to be found. Maybe she wants to test who will follow.

Emma stares at her bag. Her lip twitches.

EMMA

I just... I can’t not go.

MARÍA

That’s the only good reason.

María softens, sits beside her, beer in hand.

Emma smiles and raises her can.

EMMA

Cheers to bad decisions.

MARÍA

Los mejores tipos.

The best types.

CUT TO:

INT. JAKE’S APARTMENT – EVENING

Jake stands in front of a ring light, shirtless, applying beard oil while his phone records.

JAKE

(to camera)

Prepping for the unknown isn’t about fear. It’s about freedom. Mobility. Precision. Three shirts--okay, ten shirts--Two chargers. One mindset.

TIMA (O.S.)

And zero self-awareness.

JAKE

Jesus, do you sneak into everyone’s place like that?

TIMA

Your door was open.

He throws a roll of duct tape onto the bed, followed by a tangled extension cord and a first-aid kit.

JAKE

Fuck, do all Ukrainians pack like that.

Tima ignores him.

JAKE

It’s like you’re at war or something.

Tima’s about to say something, but decides not to waste his breath.

Jake continues packing, which is mostly brand-new gear, folded into colour-coordinated cubes.

TIMA

You’re treating this like a fucking content trip.

Jake grabs his ring light.

JAKE

If we get lost, I’d rather have good lighting.

TIMA

You care more about followers than facts.

JAKE

And you care more about being right than being human.

(beat)

Plus, you’re a student. Some of us have jobs.

TIMA

You’re a tech bro content creator, Emma’s an influencer yoga teacher, Laila’s an artist with family money, and Mateauz--what does he do again?

JAKE

Online sales or some shit. It’s never really clear.

TIMA

Either way, María’s the only one with a real job.

JAKE

School counsellor? I counsel the world, baby. I’ll help those kids drop out of school with six figures.

TIMA

You should probably start by fixing yourself.

JAKE

That’s the gayest shit I’ve heard you say.

TIMA

You’re not supposed to use that word.

JAKE

You’re right. That’s the gayest thing I’ve heard you say.

TIMA

Well, it’s true.

JAKE

Oh yeah, and what can you fix?

TIMA

Pretty much anything with wires.

JAKE

But can you fix being a dick?

TIMA

No, I don’t have wires. But I can fix our van if it breaks down.

JAKE

Vans have wires?

TIMA picks up the beard oil, studies it as if it were radioactive.

TIMA

What is this? Slippery narcissism?

JAKE

Coconut-based confidence.

They lock eyes for a second — both annoyed, both amused.

CUT TO:

EXT. CASTELLÓN – PLAZA MAYOR – NIGHT

It’s late. The square is empty except for soft yellow streetlights, old stone benches, and two figures hunched over on the edge of a fountain. The Cathedral imposes a powerful presence in the background.

Mateo and David share a small bottle of cheap rum. Mateo’s sling is crooked, his shirt half-unbuttoned. David lights a cigarette with his free hand.

MATEO

¿Sabías que me pidió que me fugara con ella?

Did you know she asked me to run away with her?

DAVID

¿De los toros?

From the bulls?

MATEO

De todo, tío. Del pueblo. De la mierda. De... la vida.

Everything, man. From the town. From the shit. From… life.

DAVID

¿Y qué le dijiste?

And what did you say?

MATEO

Me reí. Le dije que prefería que me empitonaran.

I laughed. I told her would prefer that they impale me.

DAVID

Good choice. You’re already halfway there.

Good choice. You

Mateo LAUGHS, but stops suddenly with a wince of pain as he moves his arm, forgetting it’s sprained.

MATEO

¿Tú crees que se fue? O sea… que lo eligió.

Do you really think she left? Like… that she chose to?

DAVID

No la secuestraron, eso seguro. Castellón no da para tanto.

They didn’t kidnap her, that’s for sure. Castellón’s not that kind of place.

MATEO

Era rara, sí. Pero no tonta. No del tipo que desaparece así, sin dejar rastro.

She was weird, yeah. But not stupid. Not the kind to just disappear without a trace.

DAVID

Nadie lo es. Hasta que lo es.

Body is. Until they are.

Pause. David takes a drink. His tone softens.

DAVID

¿Sabes que mi madre también se fue?

Did you know my mother also left.

MATEO

Pensé que había muerto.

I thought she died.

DAVID

Lo mismo da, cuando tienes ocho años.

It’s the same when you’re eight years old.

Long silence.

MATEO

Recuerdo que... Noe mencionó algo de una comunidad. Un tipo que “veía su potencial”. Yo estaba demasiado borracho para escuchar bien.

I remember… Noe mentioned something about a community. Some guy who ‘saw her potential.’ I was way too drunk to catch all of it.

DAVID

Entonces todo sigue igual, ¿no?

Then you’re still in the same state, no?

They both LAUGH. The laughter turns to silence.

MATEO

¿Crees que soy un cobarde?

Do you think I’m a coward?

DAVID

Creo que estás pedo.

I think you’re drunk.

MATEO

También.

That, too.

David passes Mateo the ultimate gulp of the bottle. Mateo finishes it in one gulp.

Then promptly leans over and vomits into a nearby planter.

DAVID

(very dryly)

Estás listo pa' Aragón.

You’re ready for Aragón.

David lights another cigarette. Mateo wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

They sit in silence. Two exhausted men in a town that’s shrinking around them.

CUT TO:

EXT. LAILA’S ROOFTOP - AVENIDA REY DON JAIME – NIGHT

A gentle breeze. The city hums below. Laila sits cross-legged on a flat rooftop, wrapped in a blanket. She scrolls through her contacts. Stops. Stares at a number labelled “Nico (Don’t)”.

She hesitates.

Dials.

LAILA

(small)

Hola.

Beat. She listens. Her expression stays unreadable.

LAILA

No. No llamo para discutir. Es solo que... Necesito preguntarte algo.

No. I’m not calling to argue. It’s just that… I need to ask you something.

She stands and begins pacing.

LAILA

¿Te acuerdas de aquel sitio en Aragón? El de los tatuajes en círculo y el “ayuno del sueño”?

Remember that spot in Aragón? The one with the circular tattoos and that ‘sleep fasting’ thing?

(beat)

No mientas. Sé que te acuerdas.

Don’t lie. I know you remember.

Long silence.

LAILA

Alguien que conocemos puede que haya ido. Una chica. Se llama Noe. Estaba... buscando algo, supongo.

Someone we know might have gone. A girl. Her name’s Noe. She was… looking for something, I suppose.

She sits down and pulls out her sketchbook. On the page: a van, flames behind it, and a figure standing in the road, half-shadow, half-light.

LAILA

No intento meter tu nombre en esto.

I’m not trying to involve your name in this.

(beat)

Tranqi.

Relax.

(beat)

Basta, en serio. Solo quiero saber si siguen activos.

Enough, seriously. I just want to know if they’re still active.

She adds a quick line on the page — a second shadowy figure now appearing behind the first. It could be Noe.

Her hand hesitates. She presses the pencil down harder. The line darkens. Too much.

LAILA

Dijiste que no era una secta. Pero también dijiste que me querías.

You said it wasn’t a cult. But you also said you loved me.

(beat)

Así que.

So that’s that.

She hangs up, rips the page out, and crumples it with sudden intensity.

She lets the silence sit and then lights a cigarette with shaky hands.

LAILA’S MOTHER’S figure casts a shadow on the terrace.

LAILA’S MOTHER (O.S.)

Basta ya de fumar, Laila!

Stop smoking, Laila!

Laila quickly stubs out her cigarette.

LAILA’S MOTHER (O.S.)

Ven aquí! Vamos a cenar.

Come here. We’re going to have dinner.

LAILA

Mamá, no tengo hambre.

Mom, I’m not hungry.

LAILA’S MOTHER

Ahora mismo, flaquita.

Right now, skinny sweat heart.

Laila stands near the ledge now and takes a look at the city below.

WIDE SHOT: EXT. AVENIDA REY DON JAIME – NIGHT

LAILA stands barefoot on her rooftop, a still silhouette against the low orange haze of Castellón at night. The tiles beneath her are warm from the day.

Street lamps cast stretched shadows over the quiet avenue below. Palm trees sway slightly in the hot air. The statue of Jaime I looms in the traffic circle nearby, pigeons sleeping at its base.

Cars drift past slowly, windows down, BASSLINES pulsing — reggaeton and pop. A pair of teenagers on a shared scooter weave through the painted lanes, yelling and laughing, nearly dropping a plastic bag of beer.

Down the block, someone argues loudly on a balcony, gesturing with a lit cigarette. Another plays flamenco-trap on a cracked Bluetooth speaker, the bass thin but insistent.

A van honks at an illegal parking job and swerves.

A pigeon lifts off the edge of Laila’s roof, wings slicing the warm air.

Laila doesn’t move. She’s part of the architecture now.

FLASHBACK – INT. LAILA’S STUDIO – DAY

Laila hyperventilates in front of a blank canvas. Noe crouches beside her, calm.

NOE (WHISPERS)

Draw it before it eats you.

She slips a pen into Laila’s shaking hand.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. / EXT. VARIOUS LOCATIONS - MONTAGE (FLASHBACK INTERCUTS WITH PRESENT)

SOUND DESIGN: Bare, textured. The hum of mopeds. A single dog barking. A neighbour yells faintly from an open balcony. No music. Just weather and breath.

INT. EMMA’S LIVING ROOM - APARTMENT - NIGHT

Emma closes her door, picks up two cans of empty beer, and throws them in the recycling.

She stands in front of the mirror. She zips her duffel, then unzips it. Pulls something out. Puts it back in. Her phone screen lights up with a social media notification, but she ignores it.

She looks at herself.

FLASHBACK – INT. YOGA STUDIO – DUSK

Emma demonstrates a pose. Noe, lying on the mat, watches her upside down.

NOE

You’re so good at pretending it’s not killing you.

Emma flinches, caught.

EXT. BAR ALDEA – BACK DOOR

David locks up. The empty bar behind him glows with tired fluorescent light. He turns off the switch. The hum dies. He looks at the building for a long moment.

Then pulls a crumpled photo from his pocket. A woman and a young boy on a Romanian street.

He exhales. Folds the photo.

FLASHBACK – INT. BAR ALDEA – VERY EARLY MORNING

David closes up alone. Noe sits at the counter with a cigarette.

NOE (SOFTLY)

La gente solo piensa que estás amargado porque es más fácil que admitir que tienes el corazón roto.

She gets up. Leaves a tip in Romanian bills. He's left staring.

INT. TIMA’S ROOM

A small, sterile space. The bed is made with military precision. A YouTube video on car diagnostics plays muted on his laptop.

Tima sits at his desk. His face lit only by the blue glow of the screen.

He opens a metal box. Inside: a perfectly organized array — tools, cables, a mini flashlight, zip ties, a pocketknife.

He checks the charge on the flashlight. Full. He flips the knife open. Tests the edge with his thumb.

Next to the box, his phone screen lights up.

INSERT – PHONE SCREEN:

Search history:

“transition Europe”

“Can testosterone cause mood swings?”

Missed: MARÍA (1:14 AM)

Tima quickly locks the phone, expression unreadable.

He picks up a family photo from the desk — just him and his parents. A small ribbon pinned in the corner: blue and yellow.

He turns it over. The back is blank.

His jaw tightens. He puts the photo face down.

Back to the metal box. He snaps it shut.

FLASHBACK – INT. GARAGE WORKSHOP – NIGHT

Tima works on a busted scooter. Noe watches silently (she’s wearing the same earring as Tima had in his hand at the bar), then hands him a tool--from the same metal box--he didn’t ask for, but needed.

NOE (DRYLY)

You’re not as cold as you want to be.

He doesn’t respond. But he doesn't correct her either.

INT. JAKE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

A ring light glows softly in the corner, casting a blue-white sheen across the minimalist setup. Cables, protein bars, and a half-zipped gym bag clutter the edges.

JAKE sits cross-legged on the bed, back hunched, scrolling on his phone.

His thumb flicks through Instagram stories:

A crypto influencer at a villa in Ibiza, shirtless, raising champagne.

A girl dancing in Lisbon, tagged: #GrindSet #LocationFreedom.

He switches to selfie mode. Front camera: his face, perfectly lit by the ring light. He adjusts his hair, angles the shot.

He stops. Doesn’t press record.

For a beat, he just stares at himself. The ring light reflects in his pupils, like a target.

For the first time — a crack in the confidence. Not fear exactly. But emptiness.

FLASHBACK – EXT. BEACH AT SUNSET

Jake sets up a tripod, perfecting a selfie. Noe walks past behind him.

NOE (WITHOUT LOOKING)

You always miss the moment when you're trying to own it.

He lowers the camera, rattled.

INT. MARÍA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

María stands at her dresser in a silk robe, lighting a candle with a match. Her room is spartan but warm — half lived-in, half guarded.

She opens a drawer and removes a small leather pouch. Inside: cash, a rosary, a single Polaroid of a woman (her? someone else?), and a packet of painkillers.

She adds lipstick, then pauses.

FLASHBACK – EXT. STREET MARKET – NIGHT

Crowds pulse around them. María and Noe walk close.

NOE (LEANING IN)

I know what you are, and it’s beautiful.

María stops walking. Noe keeps moving, slipping into the night and strangers.

EXT. PLAYA PALMERAL - EL GRAO – NIGHT

The horizon is grey-blue, the sky still deciding whether to storm or clear.

MATEO stands barefoot on the cool sand, shirt half-tucked into swim shorts. His hoodie hangs loosely off one shoulder. His face is puffy, eyes shadowed, but more alive than drunk.

Behind him, a row of chiringuitos — the beach bars — sit shuttered and silent. Plastic chairs are stacked. Umbrellas furled.

He holds a half-empty wine bottle in one hand. He stares at it for a long beat. Then places it carefully in a nearby recycling bin.

He pulls out an orange from the pocket of his hoodie.

Sits down in the sand.

Peels it slowly. Juice glistens on his fingertips. He eats in silence, piece by piece. No music. No phone.

Then he stands and walks toward the water. The sea is flat. Muted waves roll in like a pulse.

He walks in up to his knees. Hesitates. Breathes.

Then he dives.

FLASHBACK – NIGHT – ROOFTOP, STRINGS OF LIGHTS

Noe dances barefoot across the tiles, her hair wild.

NOE (SHOUTING)

¡La vida es corta y el mundo es falso!

She pelts Mateo with olives, cackling. He ducks and smiles — the rare, real kind.

INT. POLICÍA NACIONAL – INSPECTOR BELTRÁN’S OFFICE – NIGHT

A small office lit by the blue glow of a computer monitor. Paperwork everywhere. Files stacked like tired metaphors.

INSPECTOR BELTRÁN SÁNCHEZ, mid-50s, methodical, sharp eyes, unmoved by chaos — slowly flips through a manila folder.

INSERT – FILE:

MATEO VAN DE BROEK

Prior Charges:

Drunk and disorderly (Benicàssim, 2022)

Public urination (Castellón, 2023)

Resisting arrest (Valencia, 2021)

Beltrán’s pen taps the page rhythmically.

He clicks a key.

A second profile opens:

MARÍA G. CASTAÑO

Photo ID: She’s younger. Smiling.

The camera doesn’t show the charges. Just the look on Beltrán’s face. Slight tension. A small frown.

He closes the file and slides it into a drawer marked: EXPATS / LOS GUIRIS.

Locks the drawer.

Leans back in his chair, thoughtful.

END MONTAGE:

EXT. SUPERMARKET PARKING LOT – DAWN

The sun now hangs high, white-hot and oppressive. A few gulls circle overhead. Cicadas hiss in the background.

The van waits by the curb. It’s a battered white Fiat Ducato, sun-bleached and dented. The back bumper is cracked.

One sticker near the taillight shows the Colombian flag in faded colours, flanked by the words: “Vivir sabroso.”

Just below it, another sticker — this one handmade — features a Virgen de Guadalupe surrounded by tiny drawings of roses, knives, and a hummingbird.

One taillight is taped up with red cellophane. The side mirror rattles in the wind.

María leans against the side of the van, sipping instant coffee, hoodie up. Calm.

Emma approaches, dragging her duffel. She’s wearing a fanny pack, yoga pants, and a neck pillow.

EMMA

Morning. I brought snacks. Mostly seeds.

MARÍA

That’s not food, Emma. Eso es cebo para ardillas.

That’s bait for squirrels.

Emma smiles.

She tosses the duffel inside.

Mateo is curled in the back seat, hood over his face, arm in a sling, out cold.

Tima pedals up on his bike and skids to a stop.

TIMA

Alguien trajo herramientas, ¿no?

Somebody brought tools, right?

EMMA

I have peppermint oil?

TIMA

No es lo mismo, princesa.

That’s not the same, princess.

He tosses his pack inside, opens the van’s side panel, and peers at some exposed wiring.

MARÍA

Don’t start taking her apart.

Jake rolls up, wheeling a sleek suitcase, earbuds in. He’s filming a selfie video.

JAKE

And here we are—dawn patrol. First light.

He sees everyone.

JAKE

Wait, why does everyone look mad?

TIMA

Porque existes.

Because you exist.

EMMA

We’re missing water. And bandages. And... food food.

MARÍA

Someone go to Mercadona.

David walks up, plastic bag swinging with promise. His hair’s wet from a sink-shower. He glares at the group.

DAVID

Esto no es un viaje. Es un atentado logístico.

This isn’t a trip. It’s a logistical nightmare.

JAKE

Wait, the bartender is coming with us?

Mateo peeks his head out from the sliding car door.

DAVID

Sí, señor, y si no hay espacio, estoy seguro de que a nadie le importa si tú te quedas aquí.

Yes, sir, and if there’s no room, I’m pretty sure no one cares if you stay here

JAKE

What’d he say?

TIMA

The truth.

Laila arrives last. No bag again — just her leather jacket and sketchbook. She surveys the scene.

MARÍA

You didn’t bring anything.

LAILA

Doesn’t look like there’s much room anyway.

(beat)

Why’s David here?

DAVID

Para poneros combustible.

To make us flammable.

David reveals the bottles of rum and gin in the plastic bag.

LAILA

I thought you didn’t understand Spanish.

DAVID

Solo cuando los guiris están en mi bar.

Only when guiris/white-ass foreigners are in my bar.

María places David’s bag in the corner of the trunk.

MARÍA

Alright. Split up. Two for supplies. Two for beer. One for fuel. Someone keep the van breathing.

TIMA

Yo me quedo.

I’ll stay.

MATEO

(muffled from inside)

No! I’ll guard... the spirits...

MARÍA

We leave in one hour. Not one hour and Spanish five minutes. One hour.

EXT. CALLE COLÓN – MORNING

María and Emma walk briskly down the narrow street, passing shuttered storefronts and early-bird pensioners dragging shopping carts.

EMMA

You really think we’ll need all this?

MARÍA

Sí. Because I’ve done this before. And by “this” I mean surviving seven-hour car rides with men who don’t shut up.

They turn a corner and approach a herbolario.

INT. HERBOLARIO – MOMENTS LATER

A tiny, overstuffed herbalist shop. Dream catchers dangle beside bulk lentils and incense cones.

Emma picks up a bundle of sage and a bottle labelled “Jugo de Clorofila.”

EMMA

Do you think the van needs energetic cleansing?

MARÍA

It needs gas, cariño. And maybe brakes.

Emma pulls out her phone. Begins to film herself, holding the sage and a crystal.

VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Emma looks at the camera/at us.

EMMA

Okay, fam — prepping for a slightly chaotic but spiritually aligned journey. Protection, hydration, and--

END VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Marí shakes her head, disappointed.

MARÍA

Emma. Esto no es una puta serie de reels.

Emma, this isn’t a fucking reel series.

Emma freezes. Lowers the phone. A beat.

EMMA

I wasn’t trying to—

MARÍA

Sí, sí. I know.

EMMA

I know. I just... it’s how I cope.

MARÍA

Entonces cópialo sin cámaras.

Then cope without cameras.

María hands the sage back to her.

MARÍA

You can keep this. But no hashtags.

EXT. MERCADONA PARKING LOT – LATER

The two exit with a couple of bags — practical groceries, plus one kombucha and a vegan chorizo that María did not approve.

MARÍA

If someone dies of hunger on this trip, it’s on you.

EMMA

At least they’ll die cleansed.

CUT TO NEXT SPLIT SCENE.

EXT. REPSOL GAS STATION – MORNING

Jake is inside paying at the counter, awkwardly flirting with the teenage cashier in Spanglish.

JAKE

(holding up an energy drink)

Esto... ¿tiene taurina? Like… the strong stuff?

This… does it have taurine?

The cashier just blinks.

Outside, Tima crouches under the van’s front bumper with a toolbox open beside him. He mutters in Ukrainian, pulling at wires.

Jake exits with a bag of chips and two energy drinks.

JAKE

Got us the essentials.

TIMA

¿Tienes aceite? Coolant? Break fluid?

Do you have oil?

JAKE

No... but like, I got electrolytes.

TIMA

(snarling)

Idiot.

Jake rolls his eyes and leans against the van.

JAKE

You know, you’re not the only one who’s been through shit. We’ve all lost something at some point.

Tima slams the hood shut. Stands up slowly.

TIMA

How many buildings fell on your friends, Jake?

Jake shuts up.

TIMA

You talk like pain is currency. But yours is counterfeit.

Jake looks away, jaw tight. Opens the energy drink.

JAKE

It still depends. Like, I’ve lost--

TIMA

Your virginity when you were thirteen to a seventeen-year-old babe. I know, Jake, you’ve told me.

JAKE

I was going to say an iPhone, but I’m glad you remembered. Shit was fire, bro.

TIMA

So you got the clap?

JAKE

No, bro. Fire, like that shit slapped.

TIMA

I don’t know how you’re older than me.

JAKE

It’s my strict diet that keeps me young.

Jake takes another sip of his energy drink.

Tima wipes his hands with a rag. Tosses it in the van.

TIMA

I fixed the relay. You can film that for your followers.

He starts to walk away.

JAKE

Why do you even care if we find her?

Tima stops. Doesn’t turn around.

TIMA

I don’t.

He walks off.

Jake watches him go. Then drinks the whole can in one long chug, burps, and gets in the van.

CUT TO NEXT SPLIT SCENE.

DAVID and LAILA walk down a quiet street toward a modest cervecería. The OWNER, a wiry older man with a cigarette stuck to his lip, stacks crates outside.

DAVID

Si no tienen Estrella Galicia, nos piramos.

If they don’t have Estrella Galicia, we’re out.

LAILA

Podrías intentar ser simpático por una vez.

You can try to be kind for once.

DAVID

Soy rumano. La simpatía nos hizo perder fronteras.

I’m Romanian. Kindness made use lose borders.

LAILA

Pensaba que eres un Español de pura sepa.

I thought you were a purebred Spaniard.

DAVID

Enfrente de los guiris, si.

In front of guiris, yes.

Laila rolls her eyes as they head inside.

INT. CERVECERÍA – CONTINUOUS

A local TV mumbles in Valenciano above the bar — fire warnings, budget cuts, heat waves.

David steps up to the counter confidently.

DAVID

Una caja de Estrella. Bien fría, ¿eh?

A case of Estrella. Properly chilled, right?

The owner doesn't answer. Instead, he looks at Laila.

DUEÑO

(In Valenciano)

Res més?

Anything else.

LAILA

No, gràcies.

No, thanks.

DUEÑO

Teniu gelera? Fa una calor de collons.

Do you have a cooler? It’s damn hot.

LAILA

Sí, sí. Portem una. Gràcies.

Yeah, yeah. We brought one. Thanks.

The owner disappears into the back. Laila glances at David, who looks annoyed.

DAVID

Traidora lingüística.

Linguistic traitor.

LAILA

Lo has entendido todo.

You understood everything.

DAVID

Ese no es el tema.

That’s not the issue.

LAILA

¿Entonces cuál?

Then what?

DAVID

Que no pertenezco. Ni aquí, ni allí. Y fingir lo contrario cansa.

I don’t belong. Not here, nor there. And pretending otherwise is exhausting.

Laila studies him. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

LAILA

Entonces no finjas. Únete al club de los jodidos.

Then don’t pretend. Join the club of fucked up ones.

The owner returns with the crate. Laila pays without hesitation. David doesn’t reach for his wallet.

They each grab a side of the crate and exit.

EXT. STREET – MOMENTS LATER

They walk in silence. The sun is already hotter.

LAILA

¿Tú crees que de verdad se fue?

Do you really believe she left.

DAVID

Ojalá.

I hope so.

LAILA

¿Por qué?

Why?

DAVID

Porque si sigue cerca... ¿Qué sentido tiene todo esto?

Because if she’s close… What’s the point in all this?

They keep walking, the weight of the crate between them and something heavier under the surface.

CUT TO:

EXT. CASTELLÓN – TRANSITIONAL MONTAGE – MORNING (SUMMER VERSION)

A SERIES OF VIBRANT VISUALS capturing the pulse of Castellón in the heat of summer.

EXT. PLAZA SANTA CLARA

Tourists sip cold drinks at shaded terraces. A group of ERASMUS STUDENTS in bucket hats take selfies near the fountain. A child screams — laughter or meltdown, unclear.

EXT. MERCADONA – PARKING LOT

LOCLAS fight for spots under the awning. A MIDDLE-AGED MAN yells into his phone in Valenciano. Someone drops a watermelon; it explodes across the asphalt.

EXT. EL GRAO – MARINA AND PROMENADE

STROLLERS, RUNNERS, ROLLBERBLADERS. Seafood grills smoke behind glass. Overpriced paella, cheap vermouth. A BUSKER plays SPANISH POP covers on a battered guitar.

A group of THREE ABUELAS LAUGH and CHATTER in Valenciano as they walk down the street past a bar filled with OLD MEN drinkig beer, wine, and shots.

INT. CHURROS STAND – STREET CORNER

Greasy heat. A WOMAN (50) fans herself with a church bulletin while dipping churros into lukewarm chocolate. A radio plays flamenco. The teenager behind the counter scrolls through TikTok.

EXT. GRAFFITI WALL – HIDDEN SIDE ALLEY

Bright mural art bursts through layers of tags. One section looks vaguely like Noe — or maybe just someone trying to look free.

EXT. ROOFTOP – OVERLOOKING THE CITY

Tile roofs shimmer. The church bell tower looms over it all. You can hear kids shouting, mopeds revving, and cutlery clinking.

This town is awake.

FADE TO:

EXT. SUPERMARKET PARKING LOT – LATE MORNING

The van is still parked under the sun, which now beats down with full Spanish intensity. A small dog pisses on one tire, which Mateo chases away.

He’s been cleaning the car and reorganizing everything so there’s more space.

María walks over, her arms loaded with bags.

MATEO

Let me get that for you!

MARÍA

Wow, Mateo. Where did you get all that energy from? ¿Ya has tomado unas rayas?

Did you snort some lines?

MATEO

No, no. I just--

EMMA

Want to wash away the guilt from drinking so much. We’ve all been there, mate.

María places the bags strategically — food, beer, tools. Her sunglasses are on, but her jaw is tight. She’s sweating through her hoodie.

Jake and Tima walk up, Tima holding two bags, while Jake has one, as his other phone is occupied texting.

JAKE

All that was twelve euros more than I expected. Do we expense this to--

TIMA

Puedes facturar tu ego.

You can check your ego.

JAKE

That sounded like an insult.

TIMA

Correcto.

María places another bag into the trunk.

MARÍA

We’ll calculate the other expenses later.

She smiles at Tima. He smiles back uneasily.

Laila and David arrive next, carrying the crate of Estrella Galicia between them.

DAVID

(putting it down)

Vengo sudando como cerdo, y este no ayuda.

I’m sweating like a pig, and this doesn’t help.

LAILA

Podríamos haber conseguido latas.

We could’ve gotten cans.

DAVID

Latas son para turistas.

Cans are for tourists.

MARÍA

Where’s Emma?

TIMA

I thought she was with you.

MARÍA

She went back to get some medicine from her place or something.

As if summoned:

Emma jogs into view, balancing an aloe vera plant and a dreamcatcher.

MARÍA

You said you were getting medicine!

EMMA

Sorry! I had to.

MARÍA

You’re not bringing that plant.

EMMA

I can’t just waste it.

MARÍA

You can put on Mateo. El ya es mas rojo que un cangrejo.

He’s already redder than a crab.

Laila drops her bag.

LAILA

I’ll do it.

Everyone pauses.

LAILA

I mean, Mateo, you’re looking pretty red.

JAKE

And jacked. Dude, how do you do it with all the beer you drink?

MATEO

I work out the shame every morning, Jake.

Laila walks over to Emma to grab the plant. Emma hesitates before handing it to her. Her thoughts are unreadable as Laila cracks open the aloe vera and rubs Mateo’s back.

MARÍA

Everyone, get in.

JAKE

Shotgun!

Jake runs to the front seat.

EMMA

Fuck no.

JAKE

Shotgun. Whoever says it first gets the front seat. It’s the American way.

EMMA

This is Spain!

DAVID

¡Viva España!

Jake SLAMS the door.

MARÍA

We’ll kick him out of there as soon as we get gas.

Maria heads to the front, and everyone else piles into the back.

INT. MARÍA’S VAN - DAY

Tima and David sit in the very back row. Mateo’s about to take the seat behind María, but Emma comes from the other side, forcing him in the middle, between Emma and Laila.

Laila looks over at Emma, agitated.

JAKE

This van has zero airflow. And smells like--

María shoots him a look of death before he can say anything.

JAKE

Smells like a beautiful Colombian lady.

LAILA

And what does a Colombian lady smell like, Jake?

JAKE

Mangos?

TIMA

Well, it sure doesn’t smell like mangos in here.

MARÍA

Any complaints, and you can get the fuck out. Pendejos.

Pendejos = assholes.

Tima shrugs, “Fair enough.”

EMMA

Should we check the route?

MARÍA

No maps. No plans. Aragón is that way.

(points east)

O pa'l oeste. Lo que sea.

Or west. Whatever it is.

A low voice from the van:

EMMA

Are we really doing this?

MARÍA

Already did.

María’s about to turn the ignition--

JAKE

(phone in hand)

Wait! Say that again; that was epic.

MARÍA

No.

JAKE

Oh, come on.

(to Emma)

Emma, I know your game.

Jake turns the phone to Emma.

VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Emma looks straight at the camera/at us.

EMMA

Are we really doing this?

Jake looks at the camera.

JAKE

(low voice)

Already did.

María turns the ignition.

END VERTICAL VIDEO FORMAT

Jake snaps his fingers.

JAKE

That snatched.

The engine coughs, then rumbles.

JAKE

... in the video at least.

Finally, the engine starts.

EXT. SIDE STREET NEARBY – SAME TIME

At a shaded terrace, Inspector Beltrán stirs sugar into his cortado. He sips slowly, watching the parking lot from a distance.

From his POV: the van starts moving.

He doesn’t write anything down. Just lifts an eyebrow slightly. Lights a cigarette.

Next to his saucer: a folded police file. The label reads:

EXPATS / LOS GUIRIS – CASO: NOE S.G.

He exhales smoke.

BELTRÁN

(en voz baja)

Idiotas románticos…

Romantic idiots…

EXT. HIGHWAY OUT OF CASTELLÓN – MOMENTS LATER

The van rumbles down the on-ramp, tires kicking up dust. It shudders slightly as it picks up speed — nothing fatal, but enough to suggest future problems.

The landscape stretches out — dry fields, distant hills, rows of half-built apartment blocks.

As the van merges onto the highway, it passes a faded road sign:

← MORELLA | TERUEL → | ZARAGOZA ↑

A shadow crosses over the van — not dramatic, just enough to notice. A cloud? A bird? Or something imagined.

Inside the van: silence. Faces turned toward the windows. Tension travels with them.

EMMA’S PHONE BUZZES.

She checks it — one last voice note.

INSERT – SCREEN:

Same burner account. Audio file.

She plays it. Very low.

NOE (V.O., LOW AND DISTORTED)

I know you’re following me.

SMASH TO BLACK.

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Born Without Borders is a reader-supported guide to stripping away social constructs, building bridges across divides, cultural psychology, and how to salir de las fronteras que impone tu mente. If you want to support my work, the best way is to take out a paid subscription for $5/month or $30/year. Please share this article if you enjoyed it!