The morning after the Puma meeting, Thiago arrived at the Palmeiras training ground when the night security guard was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. The guard barely glanced up from his newspaper as Thiago flashed his ID, the plastic still warm from riding in his back pocket during the bus ride over. The complex stood silent except for the occasional creak of metal as the facility settled in the cool dawn air.
Thiago's breath fogged slightly as he stepped onto the pitch, the dew-covered grass soaking through his socks before he'd even laced up his cleats. He chose a spot near the center circle where the grass grew slightly thicker, the blades still bent from yesterday's training session. The sky above São Paulo bled through shades of indigo to pale gold, streetlights winking out one by one across the city's sprawling silhouette.
He needed to talk to Eneas.
Not after breakfast. Not when the team gathered for film study.
