Alarm bells went off in her mind, but she couldn’t be certain if they were a criminal crew or simply local wanderers. She decided to investigate further.

The next moments happened so fast they blurred. She turned back to retrieve her bike only to feel a sharp blow slam into the back of her skull. A flash of white exploded in her vision. Her knees buckled. Her last conscious thought was the shock of having her guard down. Then darkness consumed her.

When she opened her eyes, Lena found herself on her knees, arms pinned painfully behind her, stripped of her weapons and gear. Three men in balaclavas hovered nearby, speaking Spanish in clipped, mocking tones. She glimpsed her M4 and sidearm tossed aside. The men wore mismatched clothing—cargo pants, bandanas, scuffed boots. One of them, tall and broad‑shouldered, circled her slowly like a predator measuring prey.

“The agent from Border Patrol,” he said with a short laugh. “Look at her. She’s not even as tough as they say.”