Quảng Trị Province, Central Vietnam – March 2025 The old man stepped off the bus with knees that didn’t trust the gravel. A cane pressed into the red dirt. His boots, newer than they looked, sank an inch deep — like the land remembered him and wasn’t ready to let go. He stood there a moment too long, squinting at the low, tiled rooftops, the tamarind trees, and the haze that blurred the hills beyond. “Ông cần giúp không?” a young man asked, smiling gently. James Riley nodded. “Looking for… Nhàn,