Brian stood barefoot on the cold tiles of his seventh-floor hotel room balcony, the humid breeze off the Caribbean Sea brushing his face. The clock on the bedside table had glowed 1:57 a.m. when he woke up disoriented, his mouth dry and his head foggy.
Below him, Cancún glittered under a bright moon, palm trees swayed, waves broke against the shore in long, dark lines and the distant throb of music pulsed from some beach-side bar down the road. It should have felt like paradise. But all Brian felt was an emptiness and an ache.
Suddenly, Brian felt a faint tremor beneath his feet. Not the swaying of too much tequila, not the tremble of emotion, this was real. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Two figures moved in the moonlight near the water’s edge. At first, Brian thought they might be late-night swimmers or perhaps maintenance workers finishing a late job. But their movements were wrong. Too urgent. Too focused. They were digging.
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