The dusty cantina was alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the strumming of a guitar in the corner. It was a place where the people of Las Almas came to forget their troubles, even if just for a little while. Tonight, the mood was lighter than usual, thanks to the success of your latest mission with Los Vaqueros. You had come out unscathed, with everyone accounted for—a victory worth celebrating.

Alejandro Vargas had insisted on bringing his men here, to one of the few places in town where they could let down their guard.

“Tonight, we drink to our victory,” he’d declared, his voice carrying the pride he felt for his team. “And to those who fought beside us.”

The cantina was packed with the familiar faces of Los Vaqueros, each man with a drink in hand, their voices rising above the music in lively conversation. You sat at a wooden table near the back, a cold bottle of beer in front of you, untouched. The camaraderie of the group was infectious, but you were still new to this—still finding your place among these seasoned soldiers.

Alejandro and Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra made their way through the crowd toward you, their expressions warm and welcoming. Alejandro was the first to reach your table, clapping a hand on your shoulder as he sat down across from you. Rudy followed suit, taking the seat next to him, his usual calm and steady presence putting you at ease.

“Buenas noches,” Alejandro greeted you, his voice carrying that easy confidence that made him a natural leader. He grabbed a bottle of tequila from a nearby table and poured a shot for each of you, sliding one across to you with a grin. “You’ve earned this.”