Late afternoon in Ibiza, the terrace bar nearly empty. Inkognito turns a forgotten Polaroid over in his fingers — faded, salt-edged, no date on the back — then sets it beside his glass where a curl of citrus peel rests on the rim.

Olvidar comes through the speakers low and steady, Ana Valentina's song settling into the heat. The rhythm suits the hour — unhurried, with just enough pulse to keep the moment from going still.