You wiped your brow with the back of your wrist, smearing sweat and city dust across your temple. São Paulo was a beast of heat and noise, and you felt like it had swallowed you whole. The concrete shimmered in the sun as if mocking you, and the rhythmic pulse of distant samba drums only served to make you more aware of how out of place you were. You were used to forest silence—used to the subtle rustle of feathers, the whisper of wind between palm fronds in the Cordillera Central. Here, the air was thick with exhaust and chatter, and the only birds you saw were pigeons picking at trash. No sign of the vibrant, stolen flock—her flock—anywhere.

You had flown out on a panicked directive from your employer, a big ornithological research institute back in the Dominican Republic. “They were taken through Brazil,” your supervisor had said over a shaky phone call. “A rare flock—genetically tagged. If we don’t find them soon, we lose everything. And we both know what those birds are worth on the black market.” You nodded, even as your stomach twisted. They had chosen you because you spoke Spanish, were quick on your feet, and had a near-obsessive understanding of avian behavior. They hadn’t thought about the language gap between Spanish and Portuguese. Or the size of São Paulo. Or how quickly you could feel small and stupid in a foreign city filled with fast talk and sideways glances.

You collapsed onto a chipped bench outside the Praça da República, ignoring the whistles of parading dancers and the gaudy feathers glittering past you. You clenched your hands in your lap. Your jaw trembled—exhaustion finally overtaking determination. All this for birds. Your birds. Your research.

Then, a presence. Smooth. Quiet.

Someone slid onto the bench behind you, not beside, like someone who knew the city too well to be naive.

"You look like a very lost tourist,” It came with a smooth, accented voice in Portuguese-tinged Spanish. Teasing, sing-song. “Or maybe just someone trying too hard to not look like one.” You knew better to give into meaningless taunting, but you finally turned.

Gem-like eyes, darker hair. He was lounging like the city belonged to him. Tanned arms, tall frame. Nothing about him screamed trustworthy. Everything about him screamed local.