The moment the plane touched down in Germany, Thiago felt it in his bones. It wasn't just the slight jolt of landing gear kissing the tarmac — it was something deeper. Like the shift of gravity in his chest. Like his body knew he wasn't home anymore.
Through the small window, he could see gray skies hanging low over the airport, the clouds so dense it felt like they were pressing down on the earth. No sunlight, no heat rising from the pavement, no familiar samba rhythms from a nearby car radio. Just cold, unfamiliar silence.
He glanced at Marina, who had just finished shutting off her phone. "They're already outside," she said. "Dortmund sent a driver. He's waiting by arrivals with a club rep."
Thiago nodded and leaned back as the fasten seatbelt sign turned off. People began to shuffle into the aisle. Marina stood and retrieved her small suitcase, nodding for him to follow.
