FADE IN: EXT. BORDER FENCE, TEXAS SIDE, DAWN Copper light on chain link. The fence runs east to west until the heat bends it into nothing. SOFIA REYES (17) stands with her fingers hooked through the metal, looking south into Mexico. Lean, dark haired, dressed in jeans and a faded work shirt rolled to the elbows. Her face gives away nothing. She is measuring the desert: patrol intervals, sight lines, the drainage culvert two hundred yards beyond the fence. Her right hand grips and releases the chain link. Grips. Releases. A rhythm she is unaware of. A Border Patrol vehicle passes on the road behind her. Sofia never turns. The vehicle never slows. She lets go of the fence. Wipes rust from her fingers onto her jeans. Walks to a beat up Honda Civic parked on the gravel shoulder. New Mexico plates. The car is not hers. She gets in. Starts the engine. The radio comes on mid sentence, a Spanish language station reporting triple digit heat through the weekend. RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.) (in Spanish) ...ciento nueve grados hasta el lunes. Se recomienda mantenerse hidratado... She turns it off. Checks the mirrors. Pulls onto the road heading north. INT. REYES HOUSE, KITCHEN, EL PASO, 5:30 AM A ceiling fan cycles warm air through a room too small for the furniture in it. The coffee maker gurgles on a counter crowded with pill bottles, a ceramic Virgin Mary, and a stack of unopened medical bills.