But El Serpiente was already there, holding a Mayan dagger. “You will bleed, Luna. The eclipse hungers.”
The eclipse stopped. The sun returned, calm and golden.
“Talk to me, Q,” she whispered into a short-range radio.
Surfacing, she found herself in a sacrificial chamber. Hieroglyphs glowed faintly: “Two souls. One eclipse. One dies so the sun may live.”
Rain hammered the crumbling limestone steps of Ek’ Balam . Lexi Luna wiped mud from her brow, her dark braid plastered to her neck. Unlike Lara Croft’s polished gear, Lexi’s harness was patched with duct tape, her boots held together by grit. She wasn’t an heiress; she was a thief with a conscience.