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There was a surprising amount of security detail for this expedition.

ID check. Pat-down. Password. Why not include a secret handshake while they were at it?

A lady with a clipboard checked Rafa’s name off a list after confirming his details in a folder marked “R. Monfils,” then handed him a name tag. “Write your full name, job title, and where you’re from.”

Name tags? Seemed a little more mixer and less top-secret archaeological expedition, but he wasn’t there to argue, so he filled out the white sticky tag and slapped it on his chest:

Name: Rafael Monfils

Occupation: Journalist/Photographer

Institution: Global Geography

He glanced around at the others’ name tags: archaeologists, field crew, archaeological technicians, historians, equipment techs—all from various universities and museums from around the world. He was the only person not associated with some sort of archaeological institution, which wasn’t unusual in his several years of experience working at GloGeo , though usually he wasn’t the one writing the story and taking pictures. Clearly, they wanted to keep their numbers down. More people meant more rumors. Rafa took good photos, but he certainly wasn’t as skilled as the photographers usually hired for these things. And he’d never documented an entire expedition from start to hopefully (or rather, unhopefully) finish. He was in it for the long haul, though. This excursion could take weeks, or it could take months.

There were at least another dozen people on the hotel roof deck, minus the staff setting up the dinner buffet. He overheard the clipboard lady ( Anissa Davies, Project Coordinator, Archaeological Institute of America ) telling the staff that once the crew sat to eat, all hotel personnel would need to leave. Guess they were serious about this whole secrecy thing.

The rooftop was set up with a few tables facing a rolling cart in the front with a laptop and a pull-down screen alongside it. Great , he thought, grumbling to himself. Sure, a presentation would be helpful and all, but he hoped this meeting didn’t take too long, so he could still make it on time to meet Miri in the hotel bar later. He didn’t quite know what to make of this supposed backpack consultant, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much from talking to a woman.

He shook his head to himself. God, he couldn’t believe he’d whipped out the Quebecois on Miri. He’d have to apologize later for coming off like a smarmy prick.

“ Global Geography , huh?”

A voice pulled Rafa’s attention. He turned to face its source, an early-fortysomthing guy dressed like Crocodile Dundee, hat and all. This guy couldn’t be serious. Weren’t people over the whole archaeological cosplay thing by now?

Name: Dr. Bradley Quinn

Occupation: Archaeologist, PhD, and Professor of Archaeology

Institution: Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World at Brown University

A tad overkill, don’t you think, Dr. Quinn? Rafa tried not to make snap judgments, but the dinosaur -tooth necklace—on an archaeologist, no less—didn’t bode well.

“Hi, yes, Rafa Monfils,” he said, extending his hand.

“Dr. Bradley Quinn. Archaeologist.”

Yeah, buddy, we got it.

“Where’s the rest of your crew?” Bradley asked, scanning around the rooftop.

“You’re looking at it.”

Bradley froze and furrowed his brow at Rafa. “No cameraman? I was hoping to talk to him about some shots I’d like to get of the expedition.”

Rafa rolled his eyes internally. “I’ll be doing all the camera person work.” He swung around the camera bag slung over his shoulder to show him. And Rafa didn’t take direction from his subjects. “Are you the project lead?”

Bradley stood taller as the start of a smile formed in the corners of his mouth. “Actually…” He paused as if realizing he was about to say something he shouldn’t before continuing, “I have a good eye for this sort of thing, that’s all.”

And Rafa especially didn’t take direction from try-hard nobodies like Bradley. If the project lead had a special request, Rafa might try to accommodate it so long as it didn’t look staged, but not for this guy.

“Good thing I’ve got an eye for it, too. I’ll let you know if I ever need help.”

In other words, never .

Bradley’s eyes narrowed at him. Probably not the best idea to make enemies right away, but Rafa also didn’t care to launch this job with Dr. Quinn here setting unrealistic expectations. Things usually worked out better when Rafa didn’t tell people how to do their jobs and vice versa. Because, guaranteed, Rafa knew way more about photography than Brad the archaeologist.

“All right, everyone,” Anissa announced loudly. “Please grab a plate and then take your seats so we can get started.”

“Later,” Rafa said, slapping his hand against Brad’s arm and heading over to the buffet.

The group formed two lines, one on either side of the buffet table, loading their plates with delicious local fare. Rafa was famished, having eaten nothing except a packet of airline snack mix on the plane in the last several hours—he was saving Miri’s M&M’s for an emergency. Or maybe for sharing with her later.

He piled up his plate, focused on the food in front of him and ignoring all the chatter of the team and their clattering plates as they worked their way down the line. Potatoes, skewers of meat, empanadas, rice alongside some dark, thick sauce…he wanted it all, despite already sensing the meat sweats coming on. But he needed to set a solid base if he was going to be getting drinks with Miri. Last thing he needed was to get hammered on an almost empty stomach.

“Jeez, Miriam. Take a little longer, would ya?” a man’s voice called out.

Miriam?

Rafa glanced up and found himself staring at the woman who seconds earlier had invaded his thoughts. Freshly showered, with her wet hair pinned in the back of her head, she wore a dark blue T-shirt that matched the color of the bra he’d lied about not having seen. And held a plate of food that rivaled his own. She made a face at the person beside her—Brad, of course—took a ladle of the brown sauce, and brought it over to her plate.

“Miri?” Rafa spoke.

She looked up and froze upon seeing him. “Rafa?” Her hand slowly turned, pouring the contents of the ladle onto the floor and missing her plate entirely.

“Watch what you’re doing!” Brad cried out, and Miri quickly returned the ladle to the metal catering pan as several others handed her napkins to help clean up. The flurry stole her gaze from him, but not without one last questioning glance.

Well, that explained things.

With Miri sufficiently distracted, Rafa moved through the rest of the buffet, his appetite suddenly diminished, and he found a spot at one of the tables. His eyes stayed on Miri the entire time, hoping she’d finish quickly and snag one of the other three seats at his table, but no such luck. Others took the seats before she had the chance, and she eventually took the last open spot on the opposite side of the rooftop—directly in his line of vision. The conversation around him continued as if he wasn’t there. However, while he kept his gaze on her, trying to get her attention, her eyes shifted everywhere but in his direction.

She was avoiding him. So that was how this was going to be?

“Where are Dr. Mejía and Dr. Matthews? I thought they were leading this expedition?” The others at the table carried on, but Rafa couldn’t care less.

“Maybe they’re already out scouting in the field?”

“I can’t wait to meet them. Did you see their interview on Good Morning America last month?”

“They’re so cool.”

“Hey, you gonna eat that?”

A light tap on Rafa’s forearm tore his gaze from Miri. “What?”

“I asked if you’re going to eat that?” a slender, youngish Black man asked, pointing to one of the empanadas on Rafa’s plate. “They ran out, but they’re sooo good.”

“It’s all yours,” Rafa said, pushing his plate over to the man.

“Thanks, man. I’m Felix.”

Rafa glanced at his name tag:

Name: Felix Richardson

Occupation: Equipment Tech

Institution: Field Museum, Chicago, IL

“Rafa.”

“You know anyone else here?” He chomped into the empanada, staring at Rafa and waiting for an answer.

Rafa glanced in Miri’s direction, this time catching her staring back at him before she quickly looked away. “Not really. You?”

“Nah. Though my boss back at the Field Museum is friends with the leads, Dr. Mejía and Dr. Matthews. He talks about them all the time. Can’t believe I’m going to get to work with them. It’s going to be fucking sweet.”

Rafa hadn’t been given the names of the project leads in advance, otherwise maybe he would have looked them up when he’d been researching the Moon City. Now he regretted not insisting on more details from his boss when he’d practically pushed him out the door on this job. Everyone was talking about Drs. Mejía and Matthews like they were a couple of celebrities.

“What’s the deal with those two?” Rafa asked.

Felix cleared his throat. “They’re, like, the most famous archaeologists in the world right now. Did you hear about that dig gone to shit down in Mexico about a year and a half ago? It was all over the news. With the smugglers and the ancient remains of that Aztec warrior?”

Come to think of it, Rafa did remember hearing about it. He’d been on assignment at the time in northern Nova Scotia, so he hadn’t gotten deep into the press, but he recalled thinking it sounded pretty wild.

“Yeah, that was them. And Dr. Mejía is a total babe,” the other guy said.

Rafa raised an eyebrow.

“Real professional,” Rafa said, wrinkling his forehead. The man’s face turned bright red. If he was looking for others to engage in locker room banter, Rafa wouldn’t be one of them.

“Everyone, everyone,” Anissa said from the front table. “I know you are all ready to hear more about the assignment from the project leaders. They aren’t here at the moment, but they’ve sent a recording that I’m going to play for you now.”

Rafa glanced over at Miri, catching her gaze for a fraction of a second. His cocked head and lifted brow asked the words his lips could not: Are we pretending like we’ve never seen each other before? But her expression gave no answer.

Her eyes fixed to the screen along with everyone else’s, determined not to give him any clues, and he sighed internally. Guess he should probably pay attention, too.

“Good evening, team. I’m Dr. Socorro Mejía and this is my partner, Dr. Ford Matthews…”

Hmm. A rather attractive duo stared at them from the video, and now Rafa understood everyone’s obsession—Dr. Mejía was hot. Smokin’ hot. And he wasn’t embarrassed to admit it, but Dr. Matthews was pretty fucking good-looking, too.

But Rafa’s mind was still focused on a certain pair of sapphire eyes.

“You’re probably wondering where we are, and we’ll get to that shortly. But first, we want to explain a bit more about why you are here,” Dr. Mejía continued. “The twelve of you have been selected to comprise an expedition team to search for the Cidade Perdida da Lua—the Lost City of the Moon.”

A few hushed murmurs carried among the group. Interesting. Guess not everyone knew about the assignment in advance.

“We assume everyone has at least heard of the Cidade da Lua, but in case you haven’t, here is a primer,” Dr. Matthews said. “For centuries, explorers all over the world have searched for this fabled ancient land. No one knows its exact location, but according to the stories, the Moon City is located somewhere in the Amazon. Legend says that the city glistens under moonlight.

“The earliest accounts of the Moon City date back to the early fifteen hundreds. It was a city full of riches—precious metals, gemstones, ceramics, and textiles. The people who lived there flourished in the mid-to-late fifteen hundreds but abandoned the city without reason or explanation and fled to nearby lands. Possibly descendants of the Inca, or even the ancestors of the Yanomami or Kayapo. No one knows—”

“Because,” Dr. Mejía cut in, “no one truly knows whether the Moon City existed. We want to be clear: this expedition could end up a bust…”

Yeah, especially if Rafa was able to succeed. He’d heard these stories, too, from his father. You must protect it, son. You must protect the Cidade da Lua and your mother’s legacy.

His father’s voice echoed in his head, warning him of the desecration of the holy city if the Western world got its hands on it. The city had been abandoned for a reason—to protect its riches from the invasion of the Spaniards. To protect it from people like Mr. Larity, Dr. Mejía, and Dr. Matthews. He couldn’t let them destroy it. But more importantly, he couldn’t let his father down.

It had always been only the two of them. Rafa and his dad. His father had shared his fascination with archaeology and his penchant for world travel with Rafa at an early age, even pulling strings and getting him the job at Global Geography , a dream job by any journalist’s standards.

He’d been to more than one hundred countries. Seen the Seven Wonders of the World. Some more than once. Marveled at the earth’s beauty. Almost cried the first time he watched the sunset in H? Long Bay, Vietnam. And for years, it seemed he’d hit the career lottery. Who wouldn’t want to do all these amazing things?

But as Rafa’s frequent-flyer status ticked up, his enthusiasm for being a world traveler slowly ticked down. For every country he’d visited, he’d had to miss a friend’s party. For each expedition he’d gone on, he’d had to cancel a date. He lived out of suitcases and subsisted on microwave dinners and takeout on the rare occasion he was off-assignment. When it was all said and done, the only person he ever had to come home to was his father. And even then, with all his father’s philanthropy endeavors and various boards and committees, half the time when Rafa came home, he didn’t even have him .

Rafa was tired. Tired of traveling. Tired of returning to an empty apartment, sometimes only for a few days at a time. The occupation that once invigorated him now made him restless. He wanted a life . Friends to make plans with. Possibly a woman he could take out more than a couple of times before he’d disappear again for weeks or months on end. A job he got on his own, and not because his dad was on the board. Even if it meant starting over.

His resignation wasn’t supposed to have been countered with a call from his boss to his father, and, from his father, a special request:

Rafael, it’s time you knew the truth about your ancestry. Os protetores da lua have been protecting the Cidade da Lua since it was abandoned hundreds of years ago. They are the only people who are said to know the true location of the city. But they are everywhere. Living normal lives. Out in the world, listening. Watching. Waiting for the next explorer to set their sights on the Moon City. And your mother…she one of them.

I’m counting on you. You must save it from these treasure hunters. For your mother.

Finally, a chance to discover who he really was.

“Now, as to our whereabouts,” Dr. Mejía continued, focusing Rafa’s attention back to the screen. “We had every intention of being there, guiding you through the Amazon rainforest—”

“And darting from black caimans and electric eels,” Dr. Matthews said, giving a loving glance to Dr. Mejía as she playfully elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to wince.

“But…” The camera panned out, revealing Dr. Matthews’s arm in a cast. “Ford had to go and get himself injured yesterday. Seriously, only Ford could manage to topple off a three-foot-high retaining wall and break his arm mowing the lawn,” Dr. Mejía said with a good-natured eye roll.

“Hey, it was my first time,” he teased back.

Hmm…how was this going to work?

“You’re probably wondering, how is this going to work?” Dr. Mejía said.

Mind readers. Maybe they were superstars.

“Given the demands of an expedition in the Amazon,” Dr. Matthews said, “we didn’t think it was prudent for me to accompany this search.”

“And seeing as Ford is a walking catastrophe right now—”

“Catastrophe?” he said, making a face at her.

“Babe, you stubbed your toe getting out of bed this morning.”

A few snickers carried through the group.

“Fair,” he said.

“As I was saying,” Dr. Mejía continued, “this is where I need to be right now. Where we both need to be.”

They stared at each other with affection. Rafa had never had someone look at him that way.

“Fortunately, the team we curated is brimming with talent,” Dr. Mejía said. “And we’ve selected our replacements from the lot of you. Allow me to introduce Dr. Bradley Quinn…”

Rafa fought to keep his eyes from rolling as Brad stood and gave himself a couple pats on the back—literally—completely taking the spotlight from the video still playing with Dr. Matthews explaining Brad’s qualifications and background. Rafa folded his arms. Lead or not, Rafa still had no intention of taking direction from Brad.

“But while Dr. Quinn would probably make a fine lead on his own, every good archaeologist needs a partner. Someone to bounce ideas off—” Dr. Matthews said.

Brad’s shoulders deflated, sending a satisfied grin across Rafa’s face.

“And to check them when they are wrong,” Dr. Mejía said, nudging Dr. Matthews in the side. “We also want to introduce Dr. Miriam Jacobs, doctor of archaeology and my colleague from UC Berkeley.”

Everyone’s eyes shot toward Miri as her’s grew to the size of oranges. Whereas Brad’s reaction evidenced that he must have been forewarned about this sudden change of events, Miri sat frozen in her chair. No, this wasn’t planned. And by the look of things, her sudden promotion perhaps wasn’t a welcome one—not for Miri, nor for Dr. Brad.

Brad’s gaze narrowed at Miri. But Miri didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes shifted from face to face, then to her surroundings, as if she were looking for an escape route. She didn’t want this. No…that nervous, quirky chatterbox Rafa had spent an hour and a half with in the car wanted no part of this.

And when her eyes finally connected with his, he saw the fear in them. Fear that she wasn’t ready for this responsibility.

It killed him that he’d have to prove her right.