Chapter 3: The Next Morning

Morning came unexpectedly. Through the large windows of the bedroom, sunlight streamed in, softly illuminating the room. Jack opened his eyes and stretched, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The light played on the wooden walls, creating whimsical patterns that filled the room with warmth and tranquility. From the kitchen, the sound of the kettle switching off broke the silence.

“Coffee?” Derek’s voice called from the next room.

“Yes, thank you,” Jack replied, pulling on a T-shirt. He shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on his face to banish the last vestiges of slumber.

When he returned, two mugs of fragrant coffee were already on the table. The pleasant aroma of freshly ground beans filled the air, instantly invigorating Jack. He sat down at the table, where a mug awaited him.

“How did you sleep?” Derek asked, gesturing for him to sit.

“Honestly? Like a baby,” Jack said with a faint smile. “And you?”

“Not bad,” Derek replied briefly, lifting his mug.

Jack glanced at the clock. It was already ten in the morning. He needed to be at work by eleven, but he wasn’t in a hurry. This morning felt too perfect to rush.

“Will you have time to finish your coffee?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Jack chuckled, taking his first sip.

Their conversation flowed at a leisurely pace, as if time had paused. Derek, with his slightly tousled hair and broad smile, looked effortlessly at ease. Jack found it hard to look away. Those light hazel eyes, flecked with amber, gazed at him with interest and a warmth he couldn’t quite explain.

“Won’t you be late?” Derek asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’d better get moving,” Jack sighed, standing up. He walked over to the bedside table, where his phone rested.

Derek accompanied him to the veranda. The sun had risen higher, bathing everything in bright light. The air was warm yet fresh. They exchanged a brief farewell, and Jack headed for his car. His thoughts lingered on the house and his new acquaintance, but duty called.

Jack arrived at the restaurant with time to spare. Crossing the threshold, he immediately slipped into the familiar rhythm. The restaurant was preparing to open. The kitchen staff was already bustling, and music chosen by the grill chef played softly from the speakers. It was one of those calm workdays when everything ran smoothly without unnecessary fuss.

For Jack, the restaurant was a cover, but he genuinely enjoyed the work. Watching guests savor their meals and seeing the team operate cohesively brought him satisfaction. However, his real mission was far more complex. As an MI-6 agent, Jack was investigating a case that could lead him to the Northern Syndicate—one of the most dangerous criminal organizations.

Throughout the day, Jack meticulously analyzed every guest. He knew some might be ordinary patrons, while others could have ties to the syndicate. His position allowed him to observe everything discreetly, gathering crucial information.

One particular visitor had caught Jack’s attention. The man didn’t frequent the restaurant often, but his behavior always struck Jack as suspicious. Today, Jack anticipated the arrival of another guest who might have connections to the syndicate. He couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity.

By evening, the restaurant was nearly full. A man took a seat at a table in the far corner. Jack recognized him immediately—it was Sam, someone who could be the key to unraveling the case. Jack personally brought Sam’s order, using the moment for light conversation.

After dinner, Jack offered Sam a complimentary coffee. They sat at a table, chatting about mundane topics, but the atmosphere gradually shifted. The lamp on the table cast shadows on the walls, creating an intimate yet slightly tense ambiance.

“Why did you choose me for this assignment?” Sam suddenly asked, breaking the casual flow of their conversation.

Jack felt a wave of tension ripple through him. The question was unexpected and dangerous. He realized Sam might know more than he let on. But how much?

“Assignment?” Jack raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

“Don’t play dumb, Jack,” Sam leaned forward. “You’re watching me. I can feel it.”

Sam’s words were a challenge. Jack knew every move from here on had to be calculated to the smallest detail. He couldn’t afford a misstep.

“Everyone has their own tasks,” Jack replied carefully, maintaining eye contact. “But for now, our paths seem to cross.”

Sam smirked, leaning back in his chair. His eyes studied Jack intently, as if trying to read his thoughts.

“Let’s see where this goes,” Sam finally said, taking a sip of his coffee. “But know this: I play by my own rules.”

This encounter confirmed Jack’s suspicions: Sam was not only a significant figure in the syndicate but also someone to approach with extreme caution. The evening ended, but the tension lingered. Jack knew their game had only just begun.

Jack sat at his desk in the restaurant, immersed in routine. His laptop screen displayed files, analytics, and reports he processed as part of his cover. On the surface, it was an ordinary evening. But deep down, Jack sensed something brewing.

Among the documents, a peculiar line in the supply reports caught his attention. It looked like a standard invoice, but the amount and product code didn’t match the restaurant’s usual expenses. Jack opened the file, trying to decipher its significance.

His intuition proved right. The invoice pointed to a supplier tied to investigations involving the Northern Syndicate. It was the first solid lead he’d uncovered through his official work.

“Are they using the restaurant as a transfer point?” Jack wondered.

He quickly saved the data and sent an encrypted message to his MI-6 contact.

Later that night, after the restaurant closed, Jack decided to inspect the storage rooms. Opening the door, he heard the creak of the floor. The beam of his flashlight illuminated boxes and crates. At first glance, everything seemed in order, but when Jack lifted one of the crates, he discovered a strange package wrapped tightly in plastic.

Inside, he found chips—high-tech devices that could be used for surveillance or data storage. It was another piece of the puzzle. Jack photographed the contents and sent the images to MI-6, adding a note: “Found in storage. Need analysis.”

This marked the beginning of a dangerous game, one where every move counted, and Jack couldn’t afford to lose.