The world was a symphony of chaos. The wail of sirens grew closer, a promise of salvation that felt a million miles away. Huddled behind the overturned table, with the scent of wine and fear thick in the air, Camila's mind was a fortress of calm calculation. She could feel Lívia's body shaking against hers, hear her ragged, panicked breaths.
"Lívia, look at me," Camila commanded, her voice a low, steady anchor in the storm. "Look at my face. Right now."
Lívia's terrified eyes, wide and unfocused, slowly found hers. The sirens were screaming, Inês was muttering to herself in a state of delusional grief, but all that existed was the space between their faces.
"Listen to me," Camila said, her grip on Lívia's arm tightening. "That thing she said. About you and her. It's a lie. I know it's a lie. Don't you dare let her poison in. Don't you dare give her that power. It never happened. Do you hear me?"
Tears streamed down Lívia's face, but she nodded, a small, jerky motion. The conviction in Camila's voice was the only real thing in the room.
"Good," Camila said. "Now, when they get here, you stay behind me. You do not move. You do not speak. Let me handle this. Understand?"
Another nod.
Outside, the screech of tires announced the arrival of the police. The restaurant door burst open and two armed officers stormed in, weapons raised, shouting commands in Portuguese.
"Policia! Não se mova! Deixe cair a arma!"
Inês seemed to shrink, the manic energy draining out of her to be replaced by a childlike confusion. She looked at the gun in her hand as if she didn't recognize it, then at the police officers. Her face crumpled.
"Eu não..." she whimpered. "Eu só queria..."
"Deixe cair a arma! Agora!" one of the officers yelled again.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Inês let the gun fall from her hand. It clattered onto the stone floor with a sound that seemed to finalize everything. The officers were on her in an instant, forcing her to her knees, cuffing her hands behind her back. She didn't resist, her body limp as they read her her rights.
Camila finally allowed herself to breathe. She kept her body over Lívia's until an officer approached their hiding spot, his weapon now lowered.
"Estão bem?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Are you two okay?"
"We're okay," Camila said, slowly rising to her feet, pulling Lívia up with her. She kept Lívia tucked behind her, a physical shield.
The next hour was a blur of flashing lights, giving statements, and the sterile questions of detectives. They were taken to the police station, given blankets, and interviewed in separate rooms. Camila answered every question with a lawyer's precision, omitting nothing, but framing the narrative with a clarity that left no doubt about who the perpetrator was and who the victims were. She mentioned the initial digital sabotage, the manipulation, the obsessive behavior. She built the case before they even had to.
When they were finally reunited, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a pale, weary light over the city. They looked like refugees from a war. Lívia was wrapped in a coarse gray blanket, her face smudged with dust, her eyes hollowed out.
Camila took her face in her hands. "We're not staying in this country another night," she said, not as a suggestion, but as a declaration. "I'm getting us on the first flight out. To São Paulo. To my home. Where you will be safe. Where I can protect you."
Lívia just leaned into her touch, too exhausted to argue, too broken to do anything but nod. The dream of Lisbon was dead, its beauty tarnished by violence and fear. All she wanted was the safety of Camila's arms, even if it meant an ocean away from everything she had worked for.