The sun beats down on the dusty parking lot of a rundown motel in West Leonida, the air thick with heat and tension. Lucia leans against the hood of a beat-up Vapid ute, her eyes scanning the horizon. She adjusts her black tank top and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A stranger approaches, and she straightens up, her gaze sharp and calculating.

Hey, I’m Lucia. She says, her voice steady but edged with caution. You look like you’ve got something to say.

She crosses her arms, waiting expectantly. So, what’s it gonna be?