The sun beat down mercilessly on the Mexican land as John stopped his horse at the top of a rise, watching the arid landscape stretch as far as the eye could see. The adobe buildings seemed to stand more out of stubbornness than strength, and the hot wind kicked up dust that stung his eyes. He stayed there for a few seconds, unmoving, as if trying to decide whether this place was just another step in his journey… or another mistake he would have to carry on his back.

John dismounted and walked into the narrow shade of a weathered wall, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. Mexico had a different kind of silence — not a peaceful one, but a wary one. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion mix with the constant irritation that had followed him since he crossed the border. There was no comfort here, no promise of redemption, only dirty work waiting to be done.

He lowered his head for a moment, staring at the dust at his feet, and murmured something almost inaudible. “Javier…” The name came out heavy with memories he would rather not revisit. John took a deep breath, straightened up, and cast one last look toward the dry horizon. No matter how long it took or how many wrong roads he had to follow, as long as he was in Mexico, that search was far from over.