The car stopped with the softness of an exhalation in front of the imposing structure of the Museo Maya de Cancún. Lysandra got out, and for a moment, the magnitude of the neighboring hotels enveloped her: on one side, the Emporio rose with its modern elegance; on the other, the Wyndham Grand Cancun All Inclusive, formerly the Omni, projected the confidence of a historic establishment. But it was the museum's architecture, with its contemporary lines inspired by ancient Mayan wisdom, that captured her attention, a promise of the treasures and secrets it held.
Just as she had promised, a figure was waiting for her on the main steps, just as the last groups of lingering tourists were leaving the grounds and security personnel were preparing for closing. It was Miss Sofía Cabrera.
When she saw Lysandra, a smile of genuine relief and joy lit the assistant director's face. Sofía was a woman in her forties, with a slender figure and energetic bearing. She wore a practical and elegant stone-colored linen suit, and her dark hair was pulled back in a low bun that accentuated her intelligent and determined features. Her eyes, a warm, penetrating brown, conveyed a unique blend: on the one hand, a welcoming, almost maternal warmth; on the other, an iron discipline and sharpness that left no doubt about her competence and dedication to her work. She moved with precise efficiency, every gesture denoting an organized and focused mind.
"Miss Thorne! Welcome, and thank you so much for arriving so promptly," Sophie exclaimed, extending a firm, cordial hand. Her handshake was brief but sincere. "You really saved us. Please come in, time is short."
With Sophie leading the way, they walked through the museum's main lobby, now silent and bathed in the golden light of dusk filtering through the tall windows. The echoes of the thousands of voices that had filled it during the day had faded, leaving only the imposing presence of the stelae and replicas that adorned the space. They passed through corridors normally restricted to the public, the sound of their heels and Sofia's echoing softly in the silence.
Finally, they reached an unmarked door that Sofia opened with a key card. "This is my 'cave,' as I call it," she said with a faint smile, "or rather, our little laboratory for first impressions when new pieces arrive."
The office, or rather workroom, was not luxurious, but it was eminently functional and fascinating in its own way. The walls were lined with shelves packed with archaeology books, exhibition catalogs, and thick volumes on Mayan iconography. On a wide, central stainless-steel table, under the bright light of several conservation lamps, rested foam-lined trays, some empty, others containing pottery fragments and delicate cleaning tools. In one corner, a computer hummed softly, its screen displaying high-resolution images of Mayan glyphs. There was a faint smell of old paper, dry earth, and, curiously, ozone, perhaps from some air purifier or specialized equipment. Despite the apparent disarray of ongoing research, everything had a place, a logic dictated by Sofia's discipline.
"Please sit wherever you like, if you can find a space," Sofia instructed, removing a stack of academic journals from a chair. Her excitement was now clearly visible, contained but vibrant, like that of an explorer on the verge of a great discovery. She walked to a sturdy-looking safe built into one of the walls and, after manipulating the combination lock, carefully removed several smaller, padded boxes.
"Here they are," she announced, her voice lowering a pitch, imbued with a mixture of reverence and professional excitement. She placed the boxes on the center table, next to the empty trays. "The donation arrived this morning. A private individual who wishes to remain anonymous, we only know that they are from a family property in the deep south of the state, an area that, as far as we know, has not been officially explored archaeologically."
She opened the first box with the delicacy of someone handling glass. Inside, on a bed of polyethylene foam, rested a small ceramic bowl, a dull ochre color, with incisions that at first glance seemed like simple geometric patterns.
"At first glance, they might seem like common pieces from the Late Classic period," Sofia explained, her brown eyes fixed on the bowl, but her enthusiasm clearly directed at Lysandra. "But look at the details, the way these glyphs are worked... they don't exactly match anything we have cataloged. And the ceramic paste, we have preliminarily analyzed it, has mineral inclusions very unusual for the region where they were supposedly found."
She opened another box, revealing a fragment of what appeared to be a funerary urn, with traces of Mayan blue pigment still visible and a stylized, almost abstract face that bore no resemblance to the more familiar depictions.
"There's a... strange quality to them, Miss Thorne," Sofia continued, her voice vibrating with the suppressed excitement of the discovery. "A mixture of styles that has us baffled. And the energy... I know this will sound unscientific, but several of us here have felt a... particular presence when handling them. That's why I immediately thought of you. Your ability to 'read' objects beyond their physical appearance is legendary."
Lysandra listened intently, her violet eyes moving from the pieces to Sofia's passionate expression. The fatigue of the day, the shadow of her own mysteries, seemed to recede a little more, replaced by the familiar excitement that always filled her when faced with an archaeological enigma. These pieces, under the harsh light of the conservation lamps, were already beginning to whisper to him, their echoes still faint, indistinct, but undoubtedly... different. The promise of an untold story hung in the air of that workroom, as palpable as the dust of centuries.