The name Paulo hadn't found was André Nunes.
Camila hadn't thought about André in three years, which was easy because André was the kind of person who existed in a compartment of your life that you'd sealed not from grief but from completion. He was her childhood. He was the Alfama neighbourhood before the Alfama neighbourhood became expensive. He was the boy two streets over whose family had known her family since before either of them existed, who had been, at various points in her adolescence, a best friend and then a complicated friendship and then a person she'd lost touch with the way you lost touch with the geography of a life you'd moved out of.
She hadn't known he was back in Lisbon. She hadn't known, until Paulo's second briefing — the more thorough one, ten days after the arti
