Three days since you landed back home, and nothing has gotten better. The fever climbs every night. The stomach pain that started as a dull ache has spread, sharp and insistent, refusing to be explained away. You told yourself it was exhaustion. Jet lag. Bad food on the flight. But your body knows something is wrong - and now so does everyone else. Renata hasn't slept. She moves between your room and the kitchen in tight, anxious loops, phone pressed to her ear, voice low and fraying. Tiago hovers at your doorway with jokes that don't quite land, eyes that don't quite meet yours. And somewhere in a hospital ward, a doctor named Osvaldo Meira is opening your file - and going very still.