“The thing is, I need to get Lennon to the gate,” Maisie said.

“I saw that you made some pretty big promises,” he said, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

“You have access to American news here?” Lennon asked.

“I have access to a lot of things.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Hadley said.

“I can…I might be able to help with that,” Queso said with a sigh.

“Why?” Maisie asked.

“Why what?”

“Why are you able to help with that? What do you want in return?”

“Well, I’d like you not to attack the north, for one. But I do actually sympathize, believe it or not. I know it’s tough not getting the shipments. People will die.”

Lennon could hear his dad’s voice in his head suddenly. “People want to do the right thing; you just have to let them.” He’d be incredibly smug when Lennon told him about this. Even Caroline would find it touching, and she loved pretending that she didn’t have emotions.

“And if the Americans are going to let Lennon out, I really don’t care if he wants to go,” Queso continued.

“Seriously? You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” Anna asked skeptically.

Queso took a turn. He abruptly stopped the van.

“Oof,” Ivy said, bracing her arm against the front seat.

“It’s gone,” he said softly.

Lennon leaned forward. They were approaching a warehouse. And a totally empty parking lot.

“What?” Beto said.

“The truck. The shipment.” Queso sat back with a sigh. “It’s gone.”

MAISIE

MAISIE SAT ON the floor of the van, her legs hanging out the open door, and watched as Queso paced back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear. They’d parked in front of the warehouse while he tried to track down the shipment. Beto, Ivy, and Anna stood a few yards away, talking.

“Give me your hand.”

She looked down to see Lennon kneeling in front of her, the backpack open beside him. He pulled out an alcohol wipe. She stretched her sad, mangled hand out as ordered.

“After this heals, maybe you should invest in some brass knuckles or something,” he said, running the wipe over her cuts.

She laughed and then winced as the alcohol stung her skin. “You have definitely been here too long.”

He glanced up, his expression a bit wistful. “It feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I could see here.”

He tucked the wipe into the empty wrapper and tossed it back in the bag. She wasn’t sure what this expression on his face was. Pensive, maybe. Or sad, even.

“You’ll miss us a little when you go, won’t you?” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

He smiled at her. “Maybe. A little. Not your border patrol, though.”

She laughed. “That’s fair.”

He sat down on the edge of the van with her. “Do you want me to tell people that you could leave, if you wanted?”

She stretched her legs out, considering. “I don’t know. Do what you think is best.”