1

  Even without knowing the net was about to close, Greta had woken up startled during the early morning. She realized she'd fallen asleep on the sofa while waiting for Daros. The pizza box on the counter betrayed his discreet arrival. She stored the pizza in the fridge and went to the bedroom too, relieved not to be alone in the house anymore.

  She woke up very early in the morning. She opened the doors to the balcony, allowing the sun to illuminate the room. The world waited for her, radiant, outside. She went down the stairs making an effort not to make noise. Daros hadn't stayed still the previous day, going by car from one place to another like a madman, doing who knows what. Having company for breakfast would have been nice, but she knew anyone would need a good night's sleep after so much rushing around.

  She made some coffee and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box in the fridge. It wasn't the healthiest breakfast in the world, but at least it didn't require work. She just wanted to eat something before looking for some natural water... A swim that, she hoped, would dissipate some of the accumulated anxiety.She still wasn't sure how to get to the beach without going back to BR-101. She'd studied the region's map a bit before renting the property and noticed the existence of two small lagoons nearby. The smaller one was just a few minutes' walk away, a safe distance that wouldn't take her too far from the hideout.

  At the lagoon's edge, she took off her beach cover-up and adjusted her swimsuit. The water's tranquil surface reflected the morning sky. When she entered the lagoon, the sensation was one of detachment. As she sank her body into the water, she shed who she was... until only a woman without direction remained, surrendered to the gentle current of the unknown.

  It was the first time she'd felt at peace since starting her escape. With her body floating indolently between one shore and another, she remembered her favorite scene in cinema. Young Beethoven, escaping what would be another violent beating from his father, dashes through the vegetation. The scene alternated the image of the musician already at an advanced age and deaf performing on stage with the memory of fleeing through the dark forest. When the boy undressed, entered the lake and floated in it, the camera moved away from his now-light body and approached the stars. And in the firmament, he became one more of those bright stars. Although she'd always loved the scene, Greta felt she'd only understood its secret truth now.

  The water embraced and slowly guided her body from one side to another with a gentleness she hadn't experienced in a long time. The tree canopy filtered the sunlight, and the silence was only broken by the water Greta moved with her arms up and down, from head to waist, from time to time.

  After relaxing her body and mind, Greta swam from one shore to another. Finally, she made deep dives to inspect the lagoon's bottom. Below the surface, the world gained tones of amber and emerald. Sunbeams were golden spears crossing the water, creating trembling images on the sandy bottom. Small fish appeared lazily only to disappear among the aquatic plants that undulated like women's hair on a platform, stirred by the departing train.

  Silence spoke in a different tone down there. Its voice was dense, absolute, interrupted only by the pulsing of the water that confronted it. She watched the air bubbles rise like prayers to the sky, while submerged leaves preferred the oblivion of the sand beneath her feet.

  She left the lagoon and sat on the shore, assessing from a distance the little piece of nature with such magical healing powers. Her fingers' skin was already wrinkled from the submersion time, and the water had definitely fulfilled its role of opening her appetite.

  She walked back to the cabin unhurriedly, letting the gentle wind dry what it could. Staying in a place like that for an indefinite time didn't sound bad at all.

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  The property's gate was pushed to. Greta could bet that was Daros's doing. The man was cautious, indeed, but now also showed himself to be methodical. He could have pushed the gate and returned inside the cabin, but she doubted it. Everything about him exuded agitation and restlessness.

  In the last few hours, the two had been together, but also weren't. It was as if they were the moon and the sun, or the couple from a movie that played on the Afternoon Session when she was a teenager. In the story, the man had been condemned to spend the night in the form of a wolf, while the woman lived the day in an eagle's body. So the two never met.

  Just as the eagle-woman didn't fear the wolf-man, Greta didn't fear Daros either. Suddenly, his ferocity had transformed into a balm of security for her.

  There wasn't much time to elaborate on the thought. In the distance, she heard a noise she couldn't immediately identify. It was an irregular, almost mechanical sound. The noise was getting louder, and closer. It took her a few seconds to identify the source: it was a bicycle approaching. A male figure was pedaling toward the gate. It was Daros.

  He was trying to maintain balance to park, while the bicycle threatened to topple to one side and then the other under the weight of the packages tied with nylon ropes on the rear rack. The heavy backpack on his back didn't help the task, and he struggled to keep the whole thing stable.

  Greta hurried to the gate, letting out a contained laugh at the unlikely scene.

  "Wait. Let me help you."

  He let out a sigh of relief, braked, and planted his feet on the ground.

  "Where did this bike come from?" she investigated.

  "I thought it would be useful. It draws less attention than the Jeep. You can use it too, even to stretch your legs."

  She nodded, holding the bicycle for him.

  "What do you want me to carry?"

  "Nothing." He twisted an arm to free it from the strap and put the backpack on the ground. "Just keep holding the handlebars so I can untie these packages here."

  "Right, I'll take the bike inside then."

  "Sounds good. And close the gate."

  Daros got down, put the backpack back on, and balanced the packages in his arms. Greta followed him guiding the bicycle, keeping some distance in case something fell on the ground and she needed to pick it up, but nothing fell. The man walked confidently, as if he'd traveled that path many other times. Now that Greta thought about it, she realized he always walked like that. Almost like a guided missile. When she crossed the entrance, Greta leaned the bicycle against the cabin's side.

  Something about the whole scene was pleasant. Maybe the fact that he was making leisure plans. That could mean there was some pleasure for him in playing the security guy.

  She found Daros in the kitchen putting everything away with feline agility. He directed a surprised look when he assessed her carefully for the first time, but soon diverted his attention to the products he was storing. Greta hadn't noticed she was still in her swimsuit until she felt his gaze. She needed to return to the lagoon later to get her beach cover-up.

  He left a frozen four-cheese lasagna on the counter and took two beers from the fridge. Greta accepted the one offered to her. Daros waited for her to take a sip before asking:

  "Can we talk for a bit?"

  2

  As Pablo had imagined, the HB20's plate brought more questions than answers. The car was rented in the name of Fabrício Neves. Pablo sent the name and documents for analysis, knowing it would be another false lead.

  How could such a simple job—tracking a fleeing wife—start to smell so bad? He'd worked on many other cases of this type, enough to notice the signs of a situation about to tumble downhill, running over everything in its path.

  It was time to contact the client. If it turned to shit, and that was as certain as two plus two, he didn't want to be the only person to answer for it. The commander was the diplomatic type of man, who avoids walking in the mud so as not to dirty his pants. Direct clients were usually more desperate. Then, morality gave way to survival instinct. He typed the message to the client carefully:

  WE HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM.

  THE WOMAN IS BEING HELPED BY SOMEONE WITH PROFESSIONAL TRAINING.

  I NEED A LARGER TEAM TO SWEEP THE CAMERAS IN THE SOUTH OF THE STATE.

  WHEN WE LOCATE THE CAR, WE'LL FIND THE MAN.

  After reflecting for a moment, he typed the most important part:

  IT'S DANGEROUS TO UNDERESTIMATE THE GUY WHEN THE PHYSICAL SEARCH TEAM ENTERS THE FIELD.

  THE MAN NEEDS TO BE NEUTRALIZED.

  ASAP.

  HE'S MORE THAN A WITNESS: HE'S A THREAT.

  This wasn't a common adversary. Normally, he'd investigate thoroughly, try to understand how the enemy had become a risk. But he could live without that answer this time. He'd prefer to see the guy dead.