Chapter 70 – The Weight of Silence
Rain fell in a fine, misting drizzle over São Paulo the next morning. The kind that didn’t soak you right away—just lingered, settling into fabric, into skin, into the cracks of the pavement until everything felt damp and heavy. Thiago stood beneath the awning outside the Palmeiras training complex, arms folded, hood pulled up against the damp chill, watching the drops trail down the edge of the corrugated metal roof in uneven streams. The sky was the color of wet concrete, pressing low over the training pitches, turning the grass a deeper, richer green.
He hadn’t slept much.
Camila’s voice still echoed in his ears from yesterday.
"I need to think about what you just told me."
She hadn’t looked angry. Not exactly. Just... hurt. Staggered, maybe. Like he’d tilted her world on its axis and expected her to keep walking straight.
He had waited at the café long after she’d left, staring at the untouched pastel on his plate, the golden crust going soft under the condensation from his abandoned coffee. The sound of traffic outside had merged with the swirl of thoughts he couldn’t settle—half-formed apologies, explanations that sounded weak even in his own head. When he finally stood up and walked out into the fading light, the jacaranda petals underfoot now bruised and darkened by foot traffic, it felt like something had cracked—quietly, without ceremony.
Now, on the edge of the training ground, he couldn’t shake it. The weight of it sat in his chest like a stone.
The door behind him creaked open.
Rafael stepped out, already in his warm-up gear, his cleats scraping against the wet pavement. He paused when he saw Thiago, squinting through the drizzle.
"You good?"
"Fine."