Otilio's phone rings; not as often as it should. The Federal District Department had decided to do away with the DynaTacs assigned to high-ranking officials, replacing them with new foldable Motorolas, distributing them among senior officers and their most prolific agents to allow for more efficient communication.

<<Hello?>>

"Commissioner, this is urgent, we need your support."

Oaxaca brings Otilio up to speed, asking him to enter Mrs. Magos' house to retrieve Daniela's belongings, as well as those of the other victims and the killer—though they might seem unnecessary now—and meet them at a midpoint.

<<Oaxaca, no. What for?>>

"Commissioner, we're on our way back from Hidalgo. We'll probably need to meet somewhere in between. The idea is to save time, you hand over the belongings, and the witch—" Oaxaca pauses, glancing apologetically at the woman, who glares at him while rolling her eyes, "—will do her... work to find out where they've taken the girl."

<<I don't know, Oaxaca. I don't know. The boy, is he with you?>>

"The..."

<<Yes! That one, damn it.>>

"No, sir."

<<No. I won't be able to assist you, but I'll contact the Commissioner for support.>>

Oaxaca knows there's no way to get Ulises to enter the woman's house again, especially not with the boy there. But ten minutes later, Otilio calls back with instructions to meet at a bar near Indios Verdes—Los Trece Malditos.

An hour later, they enter the bar, its brick interior and suffocating heat making them sweat instantly.

They spot Otilio and Ulises at a table in the back.

"This looks like one of those Argentine pizzerias," Bobadilla remarks as he hobbles toward the table.

"You've never set foot in one."

"Oh, come on..."

"Have you?"

"Nah, my thing is Muertortas and Cochinada tacos."

Magos wants to smack them for being idiots, but they reach the table just in time.

Ulises glances at the woman, pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes in appreciation. Given the circumstances and considering who he is, she acknowledges his gratitude with a gracious nod, telling him it's her pleasure to help and that she regrets not having been faster in stopping them.

"Stopping them?" Ulises and Otilio ask in unison, and just as she's about to explain, Oaxaca interrupts.

"The good thing is that we're closing in on them. I'll call you if anything comes up, boss."

The woman reaches out to take Daniela's clothes while Bobadilla gathers the rest.

"Where did you get this?" she asks.

"And who's he?" Ulises asks, eyeing Nico.

"The Commissioner authorized access to the girl's house; some judicial officers from the MPE assisted us," Otilio replies.

Nico notices the gold pin on Ulises' lapel—an acacia branch. He strokes his chin as if scratching it, revealing his ring with the square and compass.

"I'm here to assist the wi—" he stops as Magos gives him a stern look, "—to assist Mrs. Magos," he corrects himself, smiling at her before turning to Ulises and finishing his sentence, "Dear Brother."

Bobadilla, Otilio, and Oaxaca stare at him, puzzled, but Ulises immediately shifts his demeanor, becoming far more cordial than any of them had expected.

"Well, thank you very much, Dea... Dear Brother," Ulises replies.

"Alright, we should go. We don't have time."

They all say their goodbyes, and the small special delegation finds refuge in a motel near the Indios Verdes metro station—the Verde Tenochtitlán Inn. Bobadilla goes to the nearby Comercial Mexicana and returns with glass cups, candles, and some food—just bolillos, head cheese, panela cheese, mayonnaise, and Coca-Colas. They set everything in motion. While Magos prepares her ritual, adapting it to what's available, Bobadilla makes the tortas.

Once everything is ready, the woman begins.

"Hey, Magos," Bobadilla interrupts. "But shouldn't we eat first?"

Both turn to look at him, and he shrinks back, defeated, as his stomach growls.

Magos stands up, walks to the room's dresser, takes a glass from one of the supermarket bags, and murmurs with her eyes half-closed, with unwavering determination, knowing that a life depends on it:

"Please, Lord, let what I seek appear, because I cannot see it."

She places the glass, upside down, firmly on the nightstand. Then she returns. The astonishment of the two men begins to sharpen their senses to everything around them. As she sits back down, they notice something strange about her—one of her eyelids droops halfway, refusing to move with the rhythm of her gaze; one of her eyes is lost, wandering in a spasmodic flicker, and tears accumulate at the corners. They also notice her nails—long and grimy, as if claws had sprouted from her fingers, caked with dirt. She forms a triangle with her fingertips over a picture of Daniela. Then, she starts to mumble unintelligible words, and it seems as if she is aging rapidly.

The soda in the glass bottles slowly begins to consume itself, darkening more and more. A series of thoughts barrage their minds—memories of the killer and serial rapist's hideout, thoughts of the poor girl and the terrible things she is enduring, swirling in their heads.

The bathroom pipes and the walls behind them groan like a sick stomach full of gas.

Both officers turn toward the door, which appears to be rattling. They stand up, intending to open it, but without breaking focus, the woman extends an arm and, with her open hand, as if stopping them, makes it clear they should not open that door. The lights in the room and the bathroom flicker, dimming and brightening. The woman murmurs something over and over again. A screeching noise fills the room, like nails dragging, like the piercing shriek of chalk on a school blackboard, but it sustains and shifts. The pipes burst, the walls start to dampen, and the wallpaper swells into blisters until a thick liquid begins to seep from the torn seams.

The water faucets in the shower and sink explode as well, flooding the room and the rest of the hotel floor.

Upstairs, screams begin to echo just as dozens, if not hundreds, of rats start pouring out, evacuating the rooms and floors like a ship's crew fleeing before it sinks.

The mirror in the room fractures little by little, breaking into shards that embed into the floor or bounce off.

Oaxaca's phone rings.

He pales. He knows no one should be calling them.

The hotel room phone starts ringing too; then the one in the next room, and the next, and the ones above and below. All of them ringing without anyone dialing.

The room's lights flare into a blinding brightness, while outside, absolute darkness swallows everything. The light dims again, as if the power is about to go out, the bulbs shatter, and the candle flames shoot up like tiny blowtorches before settling back into small, flickering yellow flames amidst a premature nightfall, in an evening wrapped in a cold so intense that their breaths turn white and thick, like pouring a drop of milk into clear water.

There are no footsteps, neither clumsy nor light; but every dog in the area starts barking in terror, howling as if warning each other of an imminent threat.

The door slams shut, and everyone thinks the same thing, though no one dares say it: "That door was closed just moments before it slammed."

A lightning strike, followed by its rolling thunder, seems to crash against the railing of the outer corridor where the rooms are located, and the hailstorm, relentless, unleashes its fury against everything exposed to the elements.

"Dear God! The girl is dead... but she's also alive!"

"What?" the three ask in unison.

"I don't know! The girl's soul is surrounded by confused spirits... in, in, in Limbo."

"Oh no," Bobadilla exclaims. "And how do we help her?"

"The girl... the girl is also here."

"In the hotel?" Oaxaca asks.

"No! No... she's in, in a Sierra. In the Otomí Sierra."

"Where we were earlier?" Nico asks.

Oaxaca is about to ask something.

"I know because I know," she says, grabbing a pen and writing the directions on a napkin. Then she clarifies, "Here is what we need..."

Bobadilla reaches for the napkin, but she pulls it back toward her.

"Magos, what's wrong?" Nico asks.

"It's the price... it's the price..."

"Come on, Magos. You're charging us? After everything we've seen, you're really going to charge us?" Oaxaca questions.

Bobadilla looks at her, troubled.

"No..." she murmurs, distressed. "No..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"But the price is very, it's... I'm going to have to..."

"For God's sake, Magos, what?" Oaxaca asks.

Magos hands the napkin to Nicolás, to keep herself from reconsidering, and as she does, she brings both hands to her mouth and breaks into inconsolable sobs.

Immediately, Nico embraces her, and between sobs, she can only say:

"My little one... forgive me... my little one..."

Bobadilla, desperate, moves closer to snatch the paper from Nico and understand what's happening and where they need to go.