It was the cold, gray light of a Christmas Eve morning in San Antonio, Texas. The streets were quiet, dusted with a chill that hinted at winter’s edge, though the sun would eventually burn through. At 19, Camila Mendoza Olmos had developed the habit of early morning walks—a ritual to clear her mind, stretch her legs, and start the day with a sense of calm. That morning, she slipped out of her bedroom quietly, leaving behind the hum of the heater and the faint smell of holiday baking that still lingered in the house. She waved softly to no one in particular, or maybe no one noticed. The cameras that usually caught the rhythm of daily life blinked blank. Somewhere between her front door and the cold streets beyond, she vanished.
