The late-morning sun beat down on the pair as they walked among the fish and vegetable stalls.
"What a miserable day," Victória grumbled, exhaling a long breath as she adjusted the strap of the shotgun slung across her back. "We walked ten kilometers in the middle of nowhere; you played cards, broke into a church, forced your way into an office, and sold us out for peanuts. And I still haven't had my açaí!"
João stopped on the sidewalk, his shoulders slumping beneath his worn jacket, the weight of accumulated exhaustion finally showing. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and noticed there were only a few left, but didn't even bother lighting one. The Hunter looked worn out, road dust still ingrained in the creases of his leather gear.
"You complain too much, kid," João sighed, his voice low as he stared at the stream of cars and motorcycles passing along the avenue. "The universe is indifferent chaos, Victória. The tow truck breaking down, the businessman being a scumbag, the priest being blind—they're just reminders that none of this is under our control. All that's left is to accept the mess and not lose your mind. Besides, my truck is getting towed for free. In the grand scheme of things, that's a luxury."
"Your 'grand scheme of things' is a real drag," Victória retorted, grabbing his hand without asking and pulling him toward the fish market stalls. "Stop philosophizing about nothing and come on. You owe me a treat."
For the first time all day, João didn't resist. He let himself be dragged along by the bustling crowd on the waterfront. The smell of fried fish, the sound of some old romantic music crackling from battered speakers, the laughter of market vendors, and the crunch of cassava flour on aluminum plates filled the air.
Victória used some spare change to buy a generous bowl of creamy cupuaçu dessert sprinkled with chopped nuts. As they strolled slowly among the stalls selling fruit and bottled herbal tonics, João's gaze drifted toward the dark water of the igarapé, fixed on the reflection of the lights at the edge of the market.
"I've been thinking about what Mr. Moacir said regarding the riverbank..." João murmured, his mind whirring like engine gears. "If the monster is attacking near the commercial port, it isn't hunting out of hunger, but opportunity. The tide is high, meaning there won't be many tourists willing to wade through the igarapé mud for the time being. The problem is going out there by boat without knowing whether we're dealing with a territorial beast or something worse —"
"João," Victória interrupted, stopping in the middle of the market aisle and turning to face him.
He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance.
"What?"
Without warning, Victória loaded her plastic spoon with a generous helping of the creamy yellow dessert and shoved it straight into his mouth before he could protest.
João froze, his eyes widening for a second as the intense tang and velvety sweetness of the cupuaçu took over his palate. He chewed slowly, surprised, swallowing the treat before he could even frown.
"You're living too far in the future, Hunter," Victória said, wearing a triumphant smile, the tip of her nose lightly smudged with sugar. "The world might be the senseless mess you keep going on about, but this fair is happening now. The sweet is tasty now. And you're alive now. Can you come back down to earth for five minutes?"
João wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at Victória. Then he let out a short, nasal laugh and shook his head.
"It's sour as hell," he grumbled, though his tone was light. "But it's good. And you're a pain in the neck, you know that?"
"I'm the only reason you haven't turned into a statue of dust yet," she said with a wink, taking another spoonful of the sweet. "Now let's hurry over to Mr. Moacir's bar. I saw they serve lunch there, too."
When the pair stepped onto the plywood floor of the stilt house, the sun was already nearly overhead. The smell of fried fish and farinha d'água mingled with the scent of twist tobacco and the warm, salty river breeze. Mr. Moacir was at the counter, wiping glasses with a dingy rag, while Dona Jurema chopped fresh herbs at a corner table, occasionally stirring a pot of thick, appetizing broth.
"So, you're back, eh?" Mr. Moacir grumbled, though a subtle smile appeared on his sun-weathered face. "Was Doctor Augusto too hard on you, or did he let you leave in one piece?"
João stopped dead in the middle of the room. It took him a full second to process the words; he blinked slowly before looking at the old man behind the counter with genuine surprise.
"Wait a minute... you already know we went to Augusto's building?" João asked, frowning. "We just left there."
Mr. Moacir let out a short, raspy laugh, picking up a worn deck of cards from the counter and shuffling them with the skill of someone who had spent a lifetime at tavern tables.
"Son, news of your broken-down tow truck reached us before you even set foot in the church. And the moment Augusto's secretary stepped out to buy cigarettes at the corner stand, everyone here at the bar already knew that two outsiders had gone into the boss's office. A bar owner by the creek hears things; information travels faster than river water."
João exhaled through his nose, a bitter smile playing on his lips at the realization that, on the fringes of society, invisibility was an illusion. He walked over to the wooden table, pulled out the wobbly chair, and slumped into it with a heavy sigh, stretching out his long legs.
"Yeah... the greedy old man is going to pay for the truck repairs," João said, pulling out his tobacco pouch and rapping his knuckles against the plastic tabletop. "Cut the deck, Moacir. Let's see if my luck improves at truco before I fall asleep right here in my seat."
Mr. Moacir chuckled, sitting on the bench opposite him and dealing the cards. As the two men cut and shuffled, Victória leaned against the counter beside Moacir's wife, who was preparing lunch. The woman stopped chopping herbs, sized Victória up from head to toe, and then glanced at João, who was taking a long drag from his cigarette while studying his hand.
"Oh, I get it now," Dona Jurema said, looking at Victória with a sympathetic gaze. "Good heavens, girl... are you married to that bum over there? You poor thing. So young and beautiful, yet married to a man who looks like he hasn't bathed since Tuesday and only knows how to spend money on tobacco and cheap booze."
João choked mid-drag, coughing violently and nearly toppling off his wobbly chair. The cards in his hand almost went flying.
"Wife?!" João's eyes went wide as he frantically adjusted his jacket. "Ma'am, do I look like a married man? She's my apprentice! Apprentice! No wife here! Zero marital ties!"
Victória looked at João, caught the flash of desperation in his eyes, and gave a teasing, lopsided smile. She didn't step back. Instead, she stepped forward, resting a hand against her cheek and putting on a pitiful expression.
"You know how it is," Victória sighed theatrically, making João jerk his head up as if he'd been shocked. "We try to set the man straight, but he's stubborn. It's a burden I bear with patience."
"You really don't know when to quit, do you, girl?" João grumbled under his breath, his neck flushing red as he adjusted his jacket and slapped a six of spades onto the table. "Don't humor her, ma'am. She's just acting big-headed because she had some some sweets."
Mr. Moacir chuckled at João's embarrassment, tossing a seven of hearts over João's card and making him grimace.
The lighthearted mood, however, steadily faded when the shack's wooden door swung open, letting in the sounds of the creek and the pungent aroma of fresh herbs.
A young woman entered, carrying a heavy woven basket on her hip. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. She had warm brown skin, lively black eyes, and braids adorned with red ribbons. She wore beaded necklaces and a patterned skirt.
"Blessings, Aunt Jurema," the girl said, her voice steady and slightly bold. "Father Raoni sent some aroeira and dried chili peppers. Burn a little whenever you light the wood stove."
"God bless you, Iara," the older woman replied, setting her knife down on the cutting board and taking the herbs.
João, still trying to recover his composure after the embarrassment, adjusted his posture in his chair, a deck of cards in hand. He let his gaze wander over the young woman, dragging his eyes from her floral skirt up to the ribbons in her hair, taking his time. He gave a half-smile, resting his elbows on the truco table.
"Nice necklace, morena. It matches your eyes," João said, his tone mild yet slightly mocking. "Guiné, aroeira, and rue. You smell like a spiritual cleansing bath. I don't get the chili pepper, though—must be some ritual practice of your house, right?"
Iara stopped in the middle of the room, her jaw tightening. She glared at João from head to toe, her expression radiating pure fury and zero patience for cheap charm.
"Save your poison for someone who cares," Iara retorted, her scowl more sour than Victória's cupuaçu. "If you're just another one of the priest's men looking to set fire to our offerings, you'd better turn right around before I throw this chair in your face."
Victória stopped scraping the bottom of her cup of cupuaçu and narrowed her eyes at the young woman. She took a few steps forward, stepping between the truco table and the girl, her elbow "accidentally" bumping against João's chest.
"Can you stop hitting on the girl and focus on the cards?" Victória grumbled at João, her voice heavy with emotion, before turning to the young woman. "And you, lower your tone. Nobody here is out to burn anything."
Moacir gathered the cards from the table, the festive look fading from his face as he glanced at Iara. The old man rested his calloused hands on the wood, his voice dropping to a lower register.
"Show the man some respect, Iara. He's a Hunter."
Iara looked from Seu Moacir to João, her defensive posture slowly crumbling, a shadow of pain taking its place in her eyes.
"A Hunter...?" the young woman murmured, swallowing hard. "Then you arrived too late. My brother... he was killed fighting that... I don't even want to know what it was..."
Silence fell over the bar.
Dona Jurema lowered her eyes and went back to stirring the broth in the pot, while Seu Moacir merely let out a heavy sigh, confirming the tragedy that had shaken the river family. Victória threw her empty cup of cupuaçu into the trash without a second thought, all her teasing evaporating as a knot tightened in her throat at the sight of the girl.
João laid his cards down on the table and wiped the smile from his face. His slouched posture gave way to sharp, serious attention.
"What happened to him?" João asked, his voice low and calm.
"We are children of Jurema Sagrada, and our terreiro has protected these lands for generations. My brother went into the forest and never came back. They found his body all..." The girl couldn't finish. Her earlier boldness gave way to the raw urgency of grief. "The police say it was an animal attack, but I know it wasn't. My brother and I grew up in these woods. He knew this land better than anyone. Our father knows that whatever took Jurandir isn't of this world..."
"Her father is Old Raoni, the pajé of the settlement," Seu Moacir explained, looking at João. "He's trying to keep everyone calm, but the village is in a panic."
João planted his hands on his knees and started to rise from the chair, professional instinct taking over.
"Take me to Raoni, Iara. If we leave now—"
"No. Not now," Victória interrupted firmly, placing her palm against João's chest and pushing him back into his seat.
João looked at her, surprised by her audacity, but Victória held his gaze.
"You drove all night, walked for miles, and spent the entire morning running from one place to another," Victória said, her tone taking on a gentle authority she rarely displayed. "I know you want to get this over with, but when the time comes for you to go into that forest, I don't want to watch you face whatever's waiting in there looking half-asleep. You're going to eat something and get some rest. That's final!"
João opened his mouth to protest, but the weight in his own shoulders betrayed him. He merely let out a long sigh and rested his head against the back of the chair.
Victória turned toward the counter, taking charge of the situation.
"Dona Jurema, we'll have lunch here, all right? Of course, we'll pay."
Seu Moacir looked from Victória to João, then toward Dona Jurema, who nodded silently from the back of the kitchen. The old man picked up the cards from the table and began shuffling them.
"Who's gonna make you pay, girl?" he said, dealing another hand to João. "You two stay here and have lunch with us. I've got a few hammocks stored away. Set them up out back and get some sleep. We'll worry about the beast afterward."
João raised his eyes, touched by the old man's sudden generosity.
"Seu Moacir, we appreciate it, but you don't have to go to any trouble..."
"It's no trouble at all, Hunter," the old man interrupted, his gaze growing deep and distant. He rested both elbows on the wooden counter.
"Old Raoni tells stories about Hunters. Says that when the darkness of the forest swallows men's good sense, and the laws of men can't handle what lurks out there, it's the Hunters who step into the mud to set things right. A lot of people think you're mercenaries, but my grandfather used to say you do the dirty work no one else has the courage to face."
Seu Moacir paused, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh, his eyes glistening with the pain of the memory.
"That young man Iara mentioned... her brother... he was my nephew, too. That beast in the forest took one of my own, and the police treated it like it was just another ribeirinho lost to the river. If you've come here to put an end to this nightmare, the least I can do is give you a roof over your heads and a hot meal before you go into that fight."
The silence that followed in the bar was not tense, but solemn. Iara lowered her head in respect for her uncle's grief, and even Victória felt a tightness in her chest at the gravity of the situation.
João stared at the old man, feeling the weight of a duty he deeply resented.
"Thank you, Seu Moacir," João said, his voice low and sincere. "We'll accept your hospitality. And I promise you, whatever is in that forest, lurking in the shadows, won't get much farther."
The stifling late-afternoon heat had settled over the back room of the tavern when Victória opened her eyes. Her back protested after the uncomfortable nap in the hammock, stiff from the awkward angle at which she had fallen asleep. She sat up slowly, stretching her arms and shoulders until her bones cracked, and immediately scanned the room for João.
The place was empty.
In the corner, atop a worn wooden table, his hammock lay folded—impeccably, methodically, and neatly.
Victória huffed, muttering an irritated grumble under her breath.
"Unbelievable... That man gets on my nerves even when he isn't around."
She hurriedly pulled on her boots, tightened the laces, and took down her own hammock. She folded it without her partner's precision, but neatly enough to place it beside João's. Then she grabbed her shotgun and checked the mechanism out of habit—a Hunter's reflex—before striding firmly toward the main room of the tavern.
The room was quiet.
Seated at one of the tables, her arms crossed and her posture rigid, was Iara. Behind the counter, Dona Jurema was washing glasses in a steady rhythm, dipping each one into the soapy water.
As soon as Victória stepped through the wooden doorway, Iara looked up and flashed a provocative smile.
"Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up."
"And were you just standing there like a pillar of salt, or were you waiting for a chance to give me a hard time?" Victória shot back immediately, narrowing her eyes.
Before the argument between the two could escalate, Dona Jurema raised a heavy wooden spoon toward them, pointing it like a loaded weapon.
"Stop it, both of you! If you start bickering in my place, you'll get a thrashing on your backsides until you learn some manners! No one is causing trouble in here, you hear?"
Victória swallowed hard and stepped back half a pace. She adjusted the strap of her shotgun on her shoulder and turned to the owner of the establishment.
"Where's João, Dona Jurema?"
"João went out with Mr. Moacir on the speedboat," the woman replied, resuming her rinsing without missing a beat. "Moacir took him to show him the spots along the river where the creature attacked."
Victória closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through her nose while silently swearing that, the moment she got her hands on João, she would skin him alive for leaving her behind.
"And there's more," Dona Jurema continued curtly. "Your partner asked me to tell you to go with Iara to the terreiro of the Filhos da Jurema Sagrada. He wants you to gather as much information as possible from the people at the terreiro and get back before sunset."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Victória and Iara stared at each other for several long seconds, neither willing to look away first. However, recognizing the responsibility of the mission, Victória relented. She drew a sharp breath and let out a sigh of surrender.
"Fine... Take me to that terreiro, then," Victória said to Iara, crossing her arms. "Since they're orders from my senior partner, I have to follow them."
Iara let out a low, mocking laugh, tilting her head as she watched the girl's reaction.
"So, this love you feel for him—it's one-sided, is it?"
Victória's face instantly went up in flames. Her cheeks burned a vivid crimson, and she took a step forward, gesturing frantically as she vehemently denied it.
"L-love?! Where did you get such nonsense?! Have you lost your mind?! He's just a broke loser who bugs the hell out of me twenty-four hours a day! Let's just go before I change my mind!"
Iara simply chuckled again, calmly rose from her chair, and motioned for Victória to follow her toward the exit.