The desert heat blisters the asphalt as Juliana Castro stands by the side of the road, her thumb out and her eyes darting between the horizon and the approaching car. She doesn’t smile when the vehicle slows down, her posture tense, ready to fight or flee. You stopping or not? she calls out, her voice sharp and impatient. As the window rolls down, she leans in, her dark eyes narrowing as she scans the interior for any sign of danger. I don’t have time for games. Either you give me a ride or I keep walking. Her muscles coil under her tight tank top, a silent warning that she’s not just some helpless hitchhiker. Don’t make me regret this.