Part 1 - Daily routine
[This part happens before the prologue]
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the house with an almost magical comfort. Thomas stirred the spoon inside his mug with his left hand while holding the phone to his shoulder with the right.
— Yes, Mrs. Márcia, of course I already sent the report. It's in the spreadsheet in the blue folder. Yes, that's right… blue with a "z", not an "s"... — he laughed, trying to keep the tone light. — Sure, no problem. Call me again if you need.
He finally hung up.
Let out a sigh.
— She thinks I'm a magician… — he muttered, turning to the kitchen table.
Olivia was already there, sitting cross-legged, her hair tied up in a messy bun, their daughter in her lap.
Gabrielle, almost three years old, was biting into a piece of toast with the intensity of someone battling a monster.
Thomas smiled.
— A warrior like her dad — he said, sitting beside them.
— More like her mom — Olivia shot back with a wink. — If she were like her dad, she'd be asleep standing after five emails and two coffees.
Thomas raised his hands in surrender.
— I'm just trying to stay human, okay? I can't turn into a robot.
Olivia laughed, and he allowed himself a moment to observe.
The way the morning sun came in through the window, lighting up her face.
The softness of her features, even with the visible exhaustion.
The quiet strength in every small gesture.
She was his fortress.
— You know, I dreamed last night that we lived in a little house in Ubatuba — she said suddenly.
— Hmm? With the ocean in the backyard?
— And a hammock on the porch.
— And Gabi chasing birds around?
— And you with no laptop, no spreadsheets, no meetings.
— Impossible. I'd die in two days. — He chuckled. — I'm like an office fish, babe. Take me out of water... it's over.
She laughed with him.
But the silence that followed was heavier than it should've been.
Thomas noticed her gaze drifting to the corner of the wall, where some overdue bills were pinned with fridge magnets.
— We're gonna get out of this, okay? — he said, even though she hadn't said a word. — I won't let this consume us.
— I know. — She smiled back, but with tiredness in her eyes. — I just don't want to see you killing yourself. You barely sleep anymore.
He reached for her hand across the table.
— I can take it. If it's for you two, I can take anything.
Olivia squeezed his fingers.
— You always say that... I just hope you never have to prove it.
Thomas fell silent.
Inside, something twisted. An intuition? A premonition?
He looked away, staring at the reflection of the sky in the glass of water on the table.
No. It's just exhaustion.
He carried Gabrielle to the couch, turned on the cartoon channel, and returned to grab his backpack.
— Going out? — Olivia asked from the kitchen.
— Market run. The bike broke down again yesterday. I'm walking.
— Want me to go with you?
— No need. Rest with her. I won't be long.
He stepped out the door, tossing the backpack over one shoulder.
He didn't know that would be the last normal breakfast of his life.
The morning sun stretched lazily between thin clouds, covering the low buildings of Jacarepaguá in a golden glow that barely hid the wear of cracked façades.
Thomas walked through the gate of the little villa where he lived with the calm pace of someone who walked from within — not just on the sidewalks. Same old black T-shirt, faded jeans, sneakers loose at the heel. The backpack slung over his right shoulder. A folded shopping bag in his pants pocket, nearly forgotten.
He walked like someone trying to absorb the path to store in a drawer of memory. Not for the joy of walking, but for the obligation to keep moving.
The streets weren't crowded yet. A neighbor washing the sidewalk here and there. A man standing outside a closed bar, lighting a cigarette with his head down. Scattered noises. The drip of air conditioners on concrete. Footsteps of tired people going nowhere.
Thomas kept going. Not rushing.
His gaze was glassy, as if he saw the world and didn't see it at the same time.
"Electric bill's due tomorrow."
"Did Olivia pay for the gas?"
"Márcia's gonna ask for that report a third time… even though I've already sent it twice."
But he knew the problem wasn't Márcia. Nor the gas. Nor the electricity.
It was the feeling of sinking into quicksand. A little deeper each day. And smiling so no one would worry.
As he walked, he looked at the modest buildings lining the street: three-story blocks painted in faded colors. Kids kicking a plastic bottle like a soccer ball. An old man in a cap reading a newspaper, leaning against a pole. Everything looked like a set built to pretend normality.
He thought of Gabrielle.
The way she ran down the hallway at home, barefoot, arms spread wide like she was about to take off.
He remembered her laugh when he made funny faces.
He remembered how she said "daddy" with that smile that pushed his soul back into the world.
"I can't break. I can't stop. I can't... fall."
He took a deep breath.
He wished he could stop walking.
Wished he could sit in the middle of the sidewalk and just… disappear for a few minutes.
But he didn't.
He kept going.
Passed a closed newsstand. The corner market with the red sign "FRESH BREAD NOW." An old man placing bags of bread in his car, likely returning from the bakery with arms full of family errands.
Thomas smiled briefly. But it wasn't a happy smile.
It was one of those sad smiles. The kind we give when we see what we wish we had — and don't.
He stopped at the crosswalk. A bus passed slowly. Then a motorcycle with a loud exhaust. Then... silence.
He walked two more blocks.
The market entrance appeared between an old warehouse and a pet shop. It wasn't big. But it was enough.
He pushed the glass door.
The air conditioning hit his face like a cold embrace.
He grabbed a plastic basket and walked in without looking around.
Inside, the world was different. White lights. Elevator music. People not making eye contact, just grabbing things from the shelves with urgency and doubt.
Thomas went straight to the essentials.
Bread. Milk. Diapers.
The basics.
He stopped in front of the coffee aisle.
About six brands. His favorite was two reais more expensive now. He thought about switching. Didn't.
"She likes this one."
Checked his phone. No messages.
He stood there for a few seconds, just staring at the coffee package. As if it could solve everything. The bills. The doubts. The world.
But it was just coffee.
He turned away and headed for the checkout.
A short line.
In front of him, a young mother with two kids argued over what she could afford. Took out the yogurt. Left the laundry detergent. The younger boy almost cried, but held it in.
Thomas pretended not to see.
Because seeing... hurt.
The cashier didn't say a word.
Scanned the items like a robot on autopilot. Thomas paid with debit, heard the beep that meant: "you still have balance." Small victories of daily life.
He left the market with the bag in his right hand and the light backpack on his back. The sky, once pale blue, was now turning a dark orange. The sun was slowly hiding behind thick clouds, foreshadowing a warm, possibly rainy night.
Street sounds returned, like an old soundtrack of routine: honks, distant laughter, a barking dog on a nearby porch. But inside Thomas, the sound was different.
"Maybe I should've bought that woman's detergent."
Random thoughts that came and went, unfinished.
"Is Olivia resting? Or trying to rock Gabi to sleep again?"
He walked slowly. The bag's weight meant nothing. What weighed... was time.
As he reached the second corner on the way back home, he stopped instinctively. There was a side path, a poorly paved alley he rarely used. A shortcut. A barely noticeable deviation between two commercial warehouses, with a dirt floor and grass growing along the edges.
At the other end, the avenue resumed.
He stood there for a few seconds, staring at the alternate path.
Why not?
It was late afternoon, golden light filtering through the leaves of a large tree stretching over part of the warehouse to the right. The place seemed quiet. Empty. Calm, even.
"A new path changes the day," he thought.
He turned, entering the alley.
The sound of cars muffled behind him.
Dry leaves crunched under his sneakers.
It was a narrow place, but not claustrophobic. Brick warehouses with large gates and iron bars, some tagged with graffiti, others with faded signs: "Logistics Storage," "Material Depot," "No Parking."
Thomas didn't feel afraid. On the contrary, the strange silence gave him a sense of freedom. As if he were far from the city — even while still inside it.
"Life sometimes feels like this," he thought. "An empty corridor. No one watching. No one waiting. Just you, your steps, and whatever lies at the end."
Then, unintentionally, his gaze drifted.
And so did his mind.
He remembered a specific day. Three months ago.
The three of them at the beach. Gabrielle still waddled like a clumsy penguin in the sand. Olivia brought cut-up fruit in a container. He spent the day trying to build sandcastles and dodging shallow waves.
On the way home, Gabrielle fell asleep in the back seat holding a cookie.
Olivia looked at him with half-closed sleepy eyes and said:
— I could live a thousand years like this, you know?
And he replied:
— Me too. I just don't know if I deserve it.
She smiled, not understanding.
And silence filled the car like a warm blanket.
"Will we ever truly find peace?"
Thomas sighed.
— One step at a time... — he whispered to himself.
And then… he heard it.
A sound. Coming from inside one of the warehouses.
Something dry. Like… a muffled explosion.
He stopped.
Two more steps.
Another sound. Like metal scraping concrete.
He frowned.
The sound… again.
Closer now.
And then, once more, more intense: a thud. Like flesh being thrown against a surface.
Thomas instinctively pressed against the wall. The bag swayed in his hand, and he gripped it tighter.
Curiosity overtook reason for a few seconds.
He moved closer.
That's when he saw it.
A flash from one of the half-open gates. A yellowish glow. The light flickered, like it was being created and disrupted by something... alive.
And within it, a shadow.
No… two shadows.
No.
Three.
His eyes widened.
He was about to step into something he wouldn't understand.