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This train was nowhere near as luxurious as the high-speed one that had taken them from Chihuahua to Mexico City, but Gabriel was glad of it nonetheless, glad that this journey would be coming to an end soon enough. In a way, it was a journey that had started more than six months earlier in that anonymous hotel room in Guatemala, the one where Vicénte and the Escobar elders had dumped him so unceremoniously. He hadn’t known it yet — hadn’t even remembered who he was — but it was on that day that the long, laborious process of coming back to himself had truly begun.
Ava sat next to the window, staring out at the lush, tropical landscape that passed by at a leisurely hundred kilometers per hour. They had sleeping accommodations in one of the cars farther back on the train, but for this
