Outside, the sun was disappearing on the horizon. Matt started walking toward the main road ahead in the distance. He passed a run-down auto repair shop, a convenience store with no windows, and a chicken place, by the looks of the hand-painted rooster on the sign. He felt as he did in certain parts of New York—safe enough, but on alert.

A scruffy dog ran up to him. “Hey there, buddy.” Matt risked giving the stray a rub behind the ears. His fur was matted, and he had scars, but he was friendly. His face looked like he was smiling. Matt couldn’t help but smile back at him. The dog made a sound like he was trying to talk.

“You hungry?”

The dog looked up at him. Matt unzipped his duffel and found a bag of pretzels, the snack from the airplane. The dog started dancing in circles.

“Not the healthiest, but here you go.” Matt emptied the bag on the ground. “See you later, Smiley.”

Matt made it to the main road, the dog trailing behind him, hoping for more food. Highway 307 was a long row of shops, bars, restaurants, and currency exchange stations. Tourists were drifting in and out of stores, buying trinkets, and shopkeepers sat on stools out front.

Matt’s stomach growled. Like Smiley, who’d wandered into one of the shops, he was hungry. He realized it had been more than twenty-four hours since he’d eaten anything. His appetite was gone. Eating, like other ordinary things, seemed so trivial now. But he couldn’t keep running on only despair. Spotting a cantina, he decided he’d get some food, then find a place to stay. The establishment was seat-yourself, so he took a stool at a tall bar table. A waitress appeared, and she mercifully spoke English. He ordered a Mexican beer and two tacos. When in Rome.

He glanced around the place. In the far corner was a group of young women, loud and rowdy and the epitome of Ugly Americans. A few tables over was a foursome—they looked like tourists from Japan—sitting politely with their neat polo shirts and hands folded. At the bar were a mix of locals and vacationers.

He wondered why his parents had picked Tulum. They’d never talked about going to Mexico. The internet said Tulum was a hot spot for celebrities, cool and off the beaten path. That didn’t sound like Evan Pine’s scene at all. Maybe one of those celebrities—wherever they were, Matt sure as shit didn’t see any—had offered to help with Danny’s case. That seemed a lot more plausible than his father deciding to have an impromptu spring break getaway. Especially since his mother had been in Nebraska. It didn’t make sense.