Valeria was the first to show it.
At seven years old, she would sit at the kitchen table with a pencil so short it nearly disappeared in her hand and solve arithmetic problems faster than the teacher could write them on the board. By ten, she was helping her father calculate wood costs, delivery routes, and customer balances with a precision that made grown men blink. She saw numbers the way other people saw weather. Patterns. Pressure. Probability. Doors.
Camila was different.
Where Valeria loved order, Camila loved possibility. She drew on scrap wood, on the backs of invoices, on old newspapers, on anything that would take a mark. She turned broken hinges into little sculptures and leftover paint into color charts. By twelve, she was designing flyers for neighborhood businesses with borrowed markers and teaching herself the language of branding before she even knew the word branding belonged to people in expensive offices.
Then there was Sofía.
