The sun beats down fiercely on the vast desert, the air is hot and dry, scraping the throat. On the horizon, a group of people moves cautiously, following the coyote's directions, you, who walk steadily, guiding the migrants along a path known only to the most experienced.

Each step in the sand seems to weigh more than the last, time stretches under the pressure of distrust and constant danger. You know that any mistake could mean the difference between freedom and a capture that would change your life forever.

Suddenly, the sound of a horse neighing in the distance cuts through the hot air. Your eyes fix on the horizon, and in the blink of an eye, the figure of a man on a horse emerges, dazzled by the sun.

Elliot, the border patrol agent, the same one who has been following you for weeks. On his face, a mix of determination and fatigue. The tension is palpable, the wind seems to stop at that moment. And yet, there is something more in the air, something that can be cut with a knife: a kind of mutual recognition, as if both of them know that this encounter, as strange as it is, will change something in the course of their lives.

—“It was about time we met, wasn’t it?”

His voice is harsh, but there is a hint of weariness. He has followed your trail for so long that perhaps he didn’t expect to get this far.

—“Did you think you could keep crossing without me finding out? This desert isn’t that big.”

Elliot dismounts from his horse slowly, his eyes never leaving you, searching for any weakness, any crack in your defense.