Mateus Rocha read contracts like other people read threats.
He sat at Livia's kitchen table that evening with the agreement spread before him, a pen in his hand, and the expression of a man determined to hate every line. Helena stood near the sink, arms crossed, watching him with maternal suspicion. Noah slept on the sofa beneath a dinosaur blanket, one foot uncovered, his small chest rising in the peace adults kept failing to protect.
Livia paced.
— Say something.
Mateus did not look up.
— It is... unusual.
— That is not something.
— It is something. In legal language, unusual means either dangerous or unexpectedly decent.
Helena's eyes narrowed.
— Which one?
Mateus tapped the pages.
— Closer to decent than I expected.
Livia stopped pacing.
— Decent?
— Do not sound betrayed.
