Good Morning.veronica -

Veronica placed the drive on his desk. "Trace it, or I go to Media."

She drove alone. The streets grew grimy, then empty. The auto shop's sign— Novo Amanhã (New Tomorrow)—hung by a single rusted chain.

Then a click. Then silence.

From the shadows, a phone rang. Not a burner. A sleek, black device lying on a workbench. Veronica picked it up.

She smiled. Not with joy. With the cold, terrible certainty of a woman who had stopped being afraid of the dark—because she had learned to become darker. good morning.veronica

The trace came through at 9:12 AM. An abandoned auto shop on the edge of the industrial district. No registered line. A burner phone.

Then she started her car, the polaroid still burning a hole in her pocket, and drove toward the only place that mattered. Veronica placed the drive on his desk

Antunes rubbed his eyes. "Veronica. You're on leave. Mandatory psych hold, remember? After the Campos case..."