Tonight was different. Toledo was playing their relegation decider against Extremadura UD. And Leo wasn’t in Madrid. He was 300 kilometers south, chasing a ghost.
The phone buzzed. Leo’s breath caught. 1–1. The little animated ball spun. He looked up again. Still no one. mismarcadores.com movil
Until Leo found the notebook.
His father, Ignacio, had vanished two weeks ago. The last ping from his old flip phone came from this very terminal. The police called it a missing person case. Leo called it a final, cruel joke. Ignacio had been the one who took him to the Salto del Caballo stadium as a boy, who taught him that loyalty wasn’t about winning—it was about showing up. But after the divorce, after the drinking, after the lost job, Ignacio stopped showing up. He stopped answering calls. And then he stopped existing. Tonight was different