MARION

The warm Yucatán sun hit me the second I stepped down from the jet stairs, the heat wrapping around me like a welcome I hadn’t asked for. I adjusted my sunglasses, nodded at the ground crew, and walked straight toward the black rental SUV my assistant arranged. Efficient, quiet, and exactly what I needed.

I slid in, tossed my bag beside me, and told the driver the address:

“Calle 55 #482, Joaquín Hernández Mecánica, Centro, Mérida.”

Demetria’s father’s shop.

The drive ...