The sound of water hitting the tile was the first thing Lucas heard as he opened his eyes. He was in the bathroom, leaning against the sink, his eyes red again, as if the entire night had been a battle. His unshaven face was scratched with fatigue, and drops trickled from his temples to his chin.
It was the third time in a week he had woken up there, standing, without remembering how he got there. The water was running, and he hadn't even noticed. The dreams were becoming strange fragments of another reality—visions that lingered beyond sleep.
He turned off the tap. Took a deep breath. The symbol seen in the alley still pulsed in his memory. Three curves cutting a circle... something ancient, almost alive. And more than that: familiar.
In the back of his mind, the scene from the previous night repeated like a scratched record: Rafaela fallen, the shadow swirling, the feeling of being watched, the buzzing... and Erick.
Erick Vicent. There was something in his eyes. As if he knew too. As if he could see beyond. There was a moment of hesitation in his posture, like someone who almost says "I understand" but remains silent not to be discovered.
Lucas dressed in silence. Let the coffee grow cold in the cup without touching it. Picked up his notebook and wrote:
"Symbol appeared in soot. Disappeared after prolonged visual contact. Feeling: surveillance. Coincidence with dream confirmed. Encounter with Erick: possible mutual awareness? Be wary."
He tucked the notebook into his coat and left. As he passed through the door, he felt a chill on the back of his neck, as if someone was watching him from within the mirror.
The precinct was more agitated than usual. In Room 13, the department chief, Inspector Roberto Hélio, was arguing with two investigators about leaks to the press. Lucas crossed the hallway unnoticed and went down to the digital archive.
There, with the monitor on and headphones in, was Élida Gama. Smart, sarcastic, and methodical. She was the only person Lucas trusted to investigate in silence.
"I need a favor," he said bluntly.
Élida didn't even look. "It's too early for favors, sleepwalker detective."
He smirked. "I need you to check if there are similar reports to this," and he passed the paper with the drawn symbol.
She took off her headphones, analyzed the drawing. Frowned. "Is this a rune? Tribal? Cultic?"
"I don't know. But it appeared at a crime scene. Only you saw it."
"Now I'm in danger too?" she joked, already typing.
While she searched police databases, occultist archives, and even old records digitized from the national library, Lucas stared at the window glass, where the rain was beginning to fall gently. Droplets shimmered under the lamplight.
"Strange," Élida said, interrupting his thoughts. "There are similar references... but in files sealed by military secrecy. There's something here linked to special operations in the '90s, but access is restricted. Want me to break in?"
Lucas hesitated. Then nodded. "Just don't use my name if you get caught."
"Of course. I'll use your social security number."
"Elegant as always, Élida."
She winked sarcastically. "Want coffee, or are you going to keep that nightmare face?"
He declined with a nod. The symbol still throbbed inside his mind. An image surfaced uninvited: his mother, still alive, lighting a candle on a stormy night and whispering something in Japanese before a wooden box.
At noon, Lucas returned to the "Sol do Meio-Dia" diner. Estela greeted him with a tired smile. There were fewer people there than usual. The lights seemed dimmer. The TV was on, but no image made sense—as if the world inside was stuck in a suspended second.
"You didn't order your usual today," Estela said.
"Lost my appetite."
She studied him for a few seconds, then said:
"There's something in your eyes, Lucas. As if you're not really here."
Lucas didn't answer. The window reflected his face—but for a moment, he had the impression it was someone else. The eyes... the eyes were golden. And they weren't his.
Estela served tea. "Another bad night?"
He hesitated. "It's like I'm living twice... Once awake, once asleep. But I rest in neither."
She nodded slowly, without asking questions. That kind of quiet understanding was rare. Maybe she knew more than she let on.
Before leaving, Lucas glanced at the rearview mirror by the counter. It was clean, but a stain began to form... The symbol. For a moment. Then it vanished.
In the afternoon, Mateo called him for a patrol. They said an old lady in the Brás neighborhood reported "lights on the wall" and shadows prowling her house. Lucas didn't want to go. But he needed to get out. Breathe. Test the boundaries of reality.
On the way, Mateo talked about soccer, politics, and his eldest daughter. Lucas listened to only half. The other half wandered in silence. A child crossed the street, and for a moment, the detective saw a silhouette behind her—a woman wearing ceremonial garb, holding a lantern.
At the scene, the lady—Dona Clotilde—welcomed them nervously. Neighbors whispered that she was "a bit crazy." But Lucas saw something in her eyes. True fear.
"The lights... they dance on the walls. And whisper my name," she said, trembling.
In her bedroom, the back wall was covered with symbols drawn in charcoal. None made sense—except one. In the lower corner, almost faded, the same symbol from the alley. The three curves within a circle.
Lucas froze. Mateo didn't see it. He was busy photographing the living room.
"Dona Clotilde, where did you get this symbol?" he asked.
She trembled. "I... I don't remember. I think I dreamed it..."
Lucas looked at her as if seeing a mirror. The dreams were spreading.
"Do you live alone?" he asked.
"Since my husband disappeared, three years ago. He dreamed too. Of places that don't exist. Said he saw doors beneath the earth."
Lucas mentally noted every detail. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The wall clock showed a different time. The cat that followed her avoided the room.
Outside, he looked back at the house window. For a brief moment, he saw a silhouette watching from inside. When he looked again, no one was there. But the feeling of being watched remained.
That night, Lucas didn't return home. He went straight to the abandoned building in the North Zone, where he sometimes thought more clearly. He sat on the top floor, overlooking the tracks. It was dark. Windy. The symbol still danced in his mind.
He picked up his phone. Typed a message to Erick.
"You dream too?"
Didn't send it. Deleted.
Then wrote another:
"What you saw in the alley wasn't your first time, was it?"
Didn't send that either.
The screen dimmed. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. And there, between the wind's rustle and the silence of the tracks, he fell asleep.
In the dream, Lucas was in an abandoned hospital. Flickering lights. Beds overturned. In the hallway, a child held a black balloon that rose against gravity. She looked at him and whispered:
"They dream too."
Around him, doors began opening by themselves. Inside each room was a copy of himself—sleeping. Some looked older. Others, wounded. One of them... eyeless.
In one room, there was a mirror. In it, Lucas saw the symbol glowing on his forehead. Like a mark. Like a seal.
On the hospital ceiling, the same symbol glowed red. And within it, floated an open eye.
And finally, a voice—a voice that wasn't human—spoke inside his head:
"Awaken before you are awakened."
Lucas opened his eyes, lying on the cold concrete of the building.
The sky was gray. But the symbol still pulsed beneath his eyelids.