The footprints led out of the warehouse like a dirty, silent river.
Daniela and Cassandra walked side by side across the side yard, now observing the ground with a different kind of attention. What had previously seemed like just accumulated dust and random marks revealed itself to be an improvised map: small, overlapping tracks, some almost erased by time, others reinforced by recent passages.
"They always come the same way," Daniela murmured. "They don't improvise. This has become routine."
Cassandra crouched for a moment, touching the ground with two fingers.
"Routine is survival," she said. "When it works, you repeat it. When it fails… you die."
Daniela didn't answer. She kept walking.
The footprints crossed a narrow stretch between two old buildings, where the sun barely touched the ground. The smell of fresh bread had already faded, replaced by a damp, rancid odor of stagnant water and old garbage.
