By noon, the studio's hallways had quieted. Most artists were in recording booths or meetings upstairs, and Luiz finally allowed himself a small break.
He sat outside near the service exit, eating the small sandwich Mr. Giles had tossed him earlier. The air smelled faintly of smoke and detergent.
"Monroe!" a voice called.
Luiz turned to see one of the office assistants leaning out the back door. "Phone call for you — landline in the reception."
He frowned. "For me?"
"Yeah. Says her name's Clara."
His chest tightened. He wiped his hands on his overalls and hurried inside.
The receptionist passed him the receiver without looking up. "Make it quick."
He lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"
A soft breath came through first — then her voice. "Luiz… finally."
He froze. "Clara?"
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Kelvin told me what happened. You were robbed? You lost everything?"
"Yeah. My phone, wallet… everything," he said, keeping his voice low. "I didn't even think you'd find me here."
"I went to your dorm," she said. "Kelvin told me where you work. Luiz, why didn't you tell me?"
He leaned against the wall, eyes closing. "I didn't want you to see me like this."
There was silence — then she whispered, "Like what? Trying? Fighting to stay afloat? That's not shame, Luiz. That's strength."
He let out a shaky breath, unable to reply.
"I just wanted to hear your voice," she said softly. "To know you're okay."
He swallowed. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Promise me you'll come tonight," she said. "Please. We can talk… properly this time."
Luiz hesitated, staring at the reflection of himself in the glass partition — uniform wrinkled, bruise fading on his cheek.
"Okay," he said at last. "After my shift."
"Good," she whispered, almost like a sigh of relief. "I'll be waiting."
The line clicked. The hum of the dial tone lingered.
Luiz lowered the receiver slowly, staring at nothing. Then he straightened his back, adjusted his badge, and went back to work —trying not to think about how much one voice could make him feel human again.