The morning light didn't enter softly; it burst through a crack between the wooden planks sealing the small window, forming a bright column full of dust particles dancing slowly in the still air. Tainá groaned, closing her eyes against the luminous invasion. Her head throbbed with a dull, familiar pain – the bill from the previous night. She tried to turn over, but her body was heavy, anchored by a thick blanket of rough wool.

  When she finally forced her eyes open, the ceiling she saw wasn't the concrete one of her apartment, which she was so proud to have been one of the first to buy. It was low, made of dark, uneven adobe, with a few thin roots hanging like strands of earthen hair. The smell was different too: instead of her flowers that she kept by her bed, there was an aroma of earth and, strongest of all, the sweet, full-bodied scent of fresh molasses.

  "Where am I...?"

  Her voice came out hoarse, a whisper that scraped her dry throat. She tried to sit up, and that's when she noticed something else: the weight and texture of the blanket weren't the only things against her skin. The cold morning air touched her shoulders and the upper part of her chest in a very... direct way.

  Before panic could fully set in, a silhouette appeared in the bedroom doorway. Nzambi was standing there, framed by the light from the main room. He held a shallow plate with some round, dark breads. A faint smile played on his lips, but his eyes held a sympathetic tiredness.

  "Looks like someone woke up right on time," he said, his voice calm and somewhat amused. He entered the small room and placed the plate on a nearby wooden stool. "I bought bread from the new bakery that opened near the stream. There's hot molasses, herbal tea for your head, and some goat's milk, if you can stomach it."

  Tainá looked at him, her mind still scrambled by the fog of alcohol and deep sleep. The memory of the night was a mosaic of colors, laughter, the clinking of glasses, and... heat. A lot of heat.

  Then, the cold air against her skin drew her attention again. She looked down.

  Her breasts were completely uncovered, exposed to the diffuse light of the room and to Nzambi's gaze. Her brown skin, inherited from her indigenous mother, was there, without the barrier of any fabric.

  An electric shock of consternation shot down her spine. She grabbed the rough blanket and yanked it forcefully up to her chin, a jerky movement that made the wooden bed creak.

  "Wait a minute!" her voice was now a squeak of pure horror. "What happened? What did we do!?"

  Nzambi raised his hands in a placating gesture, almost losing his balance with the plate of bread. His smile widened into a near-laugh, but he held it back, merely shaking his head.

  "We!?" he said, a note of genuine disbelief in his voice. "Nothing, Tainá. Absolutely nothing. I swear by the Old Gods and the new ones."

  The relief was instant, but short-lived. Because, pulling the blanket, Tainá felt a new weight and warmth behind her back. And then, a sleepy voice, rough from sleep and still laden with the cacha?a-induced hoarseness, murmured against her shoulders.

  "Can you two stop shouting?" the voice grumbled, and a warm breath touched the nape of Tainá's neck. "I wanna sleep a little more... the room's spinning."

  With a slow, fearful movement, as if turning to face a specter, Tainá looked over her shoulder.

  There was Whisper. Lying on her side, her long black hair spread like an ink stain on the straw pillow. Her eyes were closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones. And, just like Tainá, she wasn't wearing a single piece of clothing. The soft light illuminated the curve of her shoulder, the line of her spine, the smoothness of her waist under the blanket they shared.

  My god.

  Nzambi, seeing Tainá's expression of mute despair, could no longer hold back a broad smile. He leaned against the doorframe.

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  "As I said," he repeated, his tone now frankly amused. "We didn't do anything. But you two... When we stumbled over to my house, and you, Tainá, declared 'Let's have fun here, Nzambi!', my heart even raced. Thought I'd hit the jackpot." He sighed theatrically. "But no, there was nothing left for me. I was relegated to spectator. But, well, to be fair, I think I was still very lucky. The show was... absolutely breathtaking."

  At that moment, Whisper stretched. It was a long, lazy, and completely uninhibited movement. She arched her back, arms stretching above her head, and the blanket slipped further, revealing more of her torso before she lazily pulled it back. She opened one eye, just one, and aimed a sleepy, mischievous look at Nzambi.

  "I'm sorry, friend," she murmured, her voice a low purr. "It's just that Tainá, after the third caipirinha, got an... impressive boldness. A hurricane. There was no time or breath left to include you in the dance." The corner of her mouth curved into a languid smile. "But maybe next time I can include you, huh? We'll schedule it further in advance."

  Tainá felt heat rise from her neck to her ears, flooding her face. Her brown skin, inherited from generations in the forest, didn't usually blush easily, but at that moment she felt she must be the color of a ripe jenipapo fruit. The memories now came back in disconnected but intense flashes: stifled laughter in the dark, the touch of exploratory hands that weren't a man's, the feeling of smooth skin against hers, the curious mix of shyness and drunken curiosity...

  I can't believe this... never, never done anything like that with a woman! Never even thought about it!

  The shame, confusion, and embarrassment merged into a pure, childish impulse. Without thinking, she grabbed the straw pillow beside her – which smelled of Nzambi and the past night – and, turning with the force of a stone throw, launched it directly at the smiling man's face in the doorway.

  "STOP staring!" she yelled, her voice mixing embarrassment and mock anger. The pillow hit Nzambi in the chest with a soft puff, making him take a step back, now laughing openly.

  Tainá then wrapped herself in the blanket like a chrysalis, dragging it with her as she leapt from the bed, briefly exposing Whisper's legs before completely enveloping herself in the rough fabric. She stood up, a looming, bundled figure, pointing an accusatory finger first at Nzambi, still laughing in the doorway, and then at Whisper, who now watched the scene with both eyes open, a brazen smile on her face.

  "And you two!" Tainá ordered, trying to sound like her sergeant self but failing miserably due to the high-pitched tone and the fact she was wrapped like a cocoon. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this! This never happened! It was a... a collective alcoholic lapse! An anomalous event! Understood?!"

  Whisper rested her head on her hand, hair falling over her face.

  "An 'anomalous event' that involved my fingers on your—"

  "SILENCE!" Tainá interrupted her, shouting, her face now a nuclear blush. "I'm going to get dressed! In the other room! And if either of you peeks, I swear I'll... I'll..."

  She hesitated, searching for a suitable threat.

  "I'll tell everyone that Nzambi is a virgin!" she blurted, remembering something he had confessed during the third round of beer.

  Nzambi's smile vanished instantly.

  "Hey, that's low!"

  "And that Whisper has a stuffed capybara named Mimo!" Tainá shot back, vengeful.

  Whisper sat up abruptly in bed, the blanket held against her chest, her eyes now wide open and surprised.

  "How did you...? I don't remember saying that! But know that it was a gift from my mother when I was a child, she sewed it for me, and there's nothing wrong with an adult keeping a gift from her mother with affection and sleeping with it!"

  "If you don't want the whole barracks to know, get out!" Tainá ordered, pointing at the door.

  Laughing and exchanging amused glances, Nzambi and Whisper – the latter quickly wrapping herself in the sheet like an improvised toga – left the room, closing the simple wooden door behind them.

  Tainá was left alone in the center of the cold room, still wrapped in the heavy blanket. She took a deep breath, the cold air clearing a bit more of the remaining fog in her mind. She heard muffled laughter from outside the door and Nzambi's footsteps heading towards the stove.

  She looked at the unmade bed, at the daylight filtering through the crack, and a deep, complex sigh escaped her lips. The shame was still there, burning. But beneath it, a spark of something else... an intrigued confusion, the echo of a new and forbidden sensation the night had awakened.

  "Anomalous event," she thought, trying to convince herself. But a smaller, more honest part of her mind whispered: "It was... interesting."

  Shaking her head to dispel the thought, she began looking for her clothes, which were scattered on the packed dirt floor like petals after a storm.