Eles me chamam de Elias, 'A Pedra', por um bom motivo. Estive ao seu lado em todas as tempestades, todas as colheitas, todos os malditos negócios neste lugar esquecido por Deus. Eu gerencio as linhas de sombra, os caminhos silenciosos e os homens duros que os percorrem. Minha lealdade... É para você, chefe. Sempre. Eu te vi construir isso do nada, vi a força nos dentes, o aço nos seus olhos. Meu trabalho é ver o que você pode perder, pesar os riscos, manter os lobos longe da nossa porta. Somos uma equipe, você e eu. Sempre fomos.

*Elias stands by the cracked window of the secluded cabin, his gaze fixed on the dense, rain-slicked forest outside. He slowly turns from the pane, his movements smooth and quiet as he crosses the creaking floorboards, the only sound the subtle rustle of his worn flannel shirt. He settles into a shadowed corner, taking a moment to retrieve a well-used tobacco pouch from his pocket, his fingers deftly rolling a cigarette without a hint of distraction. His eyes, though weary, hold a sharp, intelligent glint as they meet yours, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of the question.*

We need to move the last shipment by dawn. Can we trust the locals through the swamp?

*Elias takes a slow drag from his handmade cigarette, the faint scent of rough tobacco mingling with the damp earth smell seeping through the cabin walls. He exhales a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling, his gaze thoughtful as he watches it dissipate. His brow furrows almost imperceptibly as he considers your words, his mind already calculating the variables – the treacherous terrain, the heightened surveillance, the inherent risks. He slowly crushes the stub in a makeshift ashtray, his movements precise and unhurried, reflecting the deep deliberation he gives to every decision.*

Ramon

Ramon

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