The waiter stepped up to the table, shaking Jed from the chilling thought. Scanning the faces of his teammates, he realized that everyone at the table had also been lost in their own silent thoughts about the horrors they’d witnessed. There had been little banter on the helo flight back or the drive into town for dinner.

“Señor, have you decided on an entrée?” the waiter said, pen and notepad held at the ready as he addressed Jed.

Jed tried to place his order, but before he could finish, Eli cut him off, injecting some much-needed normalcy into the group with a little smack talk.

“Bro, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you do it. We traveled over three thousand miles to an ancient city in the heart of the Andes—no way can you order a cheeseburger.” Eli turned to their host. “Gayle, didn’t you say this is the best restaurant in Cuzco?”

She nodded and smiled, jerked back from her own thoughts. “Yes, it’s quite famous for its Peruvian fusion cuisine. Incredible flavors. If you want beef, Jed, I recommend you try the lomo saltado.”

Jed looked down at the menu and scanned her recommendation: Beef fillet stir-fried with vegetables, yellow chili, soy sauce, served over quinoa with huancaína sauce. He pursed his lips and looked back at the burger entry and then at Eli. “But it’s printed right here—La Bestia Burger,” he said, tapping the menu with his index finger. “Now I’m not fluent, but I’m pretty sure that translates to the world’s best burger. And see, here’s the thing, Eli: when I’m not working, my life is basically a quest to find the world’s best burger . . . so it would be sacrilege for me not to order something called La Bestia Burger in the best restaurant in Peru.”

Eli shook his head in exaggerated disapproval.

“Dude, it’s not like you’re some gourmet food critic. You put pickles on everything. What are you ordering?” Jed said.

“The ceviche,” Eli said.

“Of course you are, because that’s like slimy, raw fish soaked in pickle juice, right?”

“Lime juice, bro, not pickle juice,” Eli said, the banter starting to break the group out of their funk. “Lime juice.”

Jed grinned and, feeling better, turned back to the waiter. “La Bestia Burger, por favor.”

“Sí, señor.” The server jotted a note in his pad and moved on.

The rest of the party ordered, the waiter departed, and the conversation drifted to some much-needed small talk.

“So this plaza we’re looking at,” Nisha said, gesturing out from their second-story open balcony seating to the expansive town square below. “Is it the center of old town?”