The sun had barely broken over Northvale when Frank Miller woke up. The flat was still half-unpacked — cardboard boxes stacked in corners, a few clothes spilling out of open suitcases. The air smelled faintly of dust, coffee, and cigarette smoke.

He stretched, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glanced toward Zoey's door. It was half open. She was still asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, the sheets tangled. For a second, Frank just watched quietly — she looked so different like this, peaceful, like none of what they were caught in existed. Then he turned away, grabbed his hoodie, and stepped outside.

The morning air was cool, the streets calm. Northvale at dawn had a strange stillness — like the whole city was charging itself before the chaos of the day. Frank started walking down the lane, taking in the neighborhood: rows of neat little houses, a grocery store just opening, and the faint hum of electric trams in the distance.

As he passed one of the nearby homes, a man in his early fifties waved from the porch."Morning there, new face around here?"

Frank nodded politely. "Yeah, just moved in last night. Frank."

"Richardson," the man said, stepping down the porch steps. "Live next door. Thought so. The landlord mentioned someone new moving in."

Frank offered a handshake. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Richardson."

"Drop the 'mister,' makes me sound old," Richardson laughed. "Come, have a cup of coffee with us. My wife just made some."

Frank hesitated a moment, then smiled. "Why not."

Inside, the house was warm and smelled of toast and cinnamon. Richardson introduced his family — his wife, a gentle-faced woman in her forties named Elaine, and his daughter, Chloe Richardson, a bright-eyed nineteen-year-old who offered Frank a shy smile. Richardson's elderly mother sat in a recliner, knitting quietly near the window.

"Take a seat," Richardson said, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. "Sugar?"

"Black is fine," Frank replied.

They sat around the table, small talk flowing easily. Richardson was one of those cheerful, talkative people who could fill silence without trying. He talked about Northvale — the city's nightlife, the endless tech jobs, the constant construction. Frank mostly listened, half his mind on the mission, half trying to memorize the faces and voices around him.

Then, as if on cue, a burst of static came from the old radio on the counter, followed by a news anchor's voice:

"Breaking news from downtown Northvale — authorities are investigating a massive privacy breach. Dozens of private videos, reportedly filmed in public restrooms, have surfaced on the dark web—"

Frank froze mid-sip. His eyes flicked toward the radio, jaw tightening.

"—Sources suggest the footage was captured using micro surveillance devices linked to corporate data streams. Officials suspect insider involvement—"

He put the cup down slowly. Richardson just shook his head."Ah, this city," he sighed. "Stuff like that's always happening. Tech people with too much power and no conscience. You get used to it."

Frank's voice was low. "You shouldn't have to get used to that."

Richardson laughed lightly. "You sound like one of those honest cops."

Frank just smiled faintly. "Something like that."

But his mind was already racing. Micro surveillance, insider access — it all matched the fragments Ricky had mentioned.Vertex. It had to be connected.

He finished his coffee in a few quick gulps, the caffeine sharp on his tongue."Thanks for the cup, Mr. Richardson," he said, standing. "Appreciate it. Nice meeting your family."

Richardson looked surprised. "So soon? We were just getting started!"

"Duty calls," Frank said, glancing at his watch. "But I'll take a rain check."

As he headed for the door, Richardson called after him, "We're having dinner tonight — you and your partner should join us. Good way to settle in!"

Frank gave a polite nod. "We'll see."

Back at the flat, Frank noticed something odd on the lawn — an envelope, half-tucked under the welcome mat. He crouched, picked it up, and saw his name scrawled across the front in all caps.

Inside, just one word: UPDATEAnd in tiny print on the corner — "RICKY."

Frank's pulse quickened.

He stepped inside, calling out, "Zoey! Wake up!"

Her sleepy voice came from the other room. "I'm already up."

"Good. Come here," Frank said, laying the envelope on the dining table.

Zoey appeared in a loose t-shirt, hair messy, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Message from base."

He handed her the paper. She scanned it, brow furrowing. "That's it? Just 'UPDATE'?"

Frank nodded. "It means Ricky's expecting a check-in. Let's set up the link."

They pulled out the compact satellite communicator from a small metal case. Frank flicked a few switches, calibrating the signal, and recorded a short voice transmission:

"Agent Miller reporting. Situation stable. Settled in. Operation will begin at first clearance point."

He hit Send. The device beeped twice, confirming transmission.

For a moment, they both sat silently at the dining table. Then Zoey sighed. "Frank, listen… about the last few days—"

He cut her off gently. "Let's not drag it out. We're partners. We can't afford to stay off balance."

She nodded slowly. "Agreed."

"Good," he said, leaning back. "Then we start fresh. First, we organize this place. We can't operate out of a mess."

She smirked. "So that's your big plan? Cleaning duty?"

"Exactly," he said dryly. "One room's the office, one's for sleeping. Keeps things clear."

"Fine by me," she said, stretching her arms. "Where do we start?"

Frank pointed to the boxes near the wall. "Curtains first. Can't have the whole block watching us unpack surveillance gear."

They worked for the next couple of hours, a rhythm forming between them.Zoey unboxed kitchen utensils while Frank fixed curtain rods. Every now and then, their shoulders brushed as they moved past each other.

"So," Zoey said at one point, "who are these neighbors you were talking to this morning?"

"Richardson. Lives next door. Invited us for dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" She raised an eyebrow. "You've been here one day and already making friends?"

Frank chuckled. "You'd be surprised what a good cup of coffee can do."

She laughed lightly. "Yeah, or maybe you're just trying to gather intel through neighborhood gossip."

"Maybe both," he said with a grin. "You'd be amazed how much people tell you over coffee."

They shared a small smile — the kind that used to come naturally between them. For a moment, things didn't feel so complicated.

Zoey moved toward the kitchen, opening cabinets. "We'll need groceries soon. No point living like college students."

Frank nodded. "We'll go after lunch. Get what we need to blend in."

"Right," she said. "A normal couple setting up a home."

He looked at her. "Exactly. Just remember — this 'normal couple' might be the only thing keeping us alive."

By late afternoon, the flat finally looked like people lived there. Curtains drawn, dishes stacked, furniture in place. The clutter had been replaced by order — and a small sense of calm.

Zoey leaned against the kitchen counter, breathing out. "Not bad for a day's work."

Frank glanced around. "Almost feels real."

"Almost," she echoed.

He checked his watch. "Alright. Rest for a bit. Dinner's in a few hours. Try not to be late — neighbors seem friendly."

Zoey smiled faintly. "Sure. I'll even wear something decent."

He shot her a half-grin. "Don't overdo it. We're not going on a date."

"I didn't say we were," she replied, teasingly.

For the first time in days, the tension between them cracked — just slightly — replaced by something easier, something human.

As Zoey went to her room, Frank stayed back at the table, lighting another cigarette. He stared at the "UPDATE" note again, the smoke curling above it like a question mark.

Ricky wouldn't send a message just to check in.Something's shifting.

He flicked the ash into a tray, then stood, his reflection caught faintly in the window glass. From outside, the neighborhood looked ordinary — kids playing, dogs barking, the hum of evening life. But beneath it all, he felt it — the city's pulse, steady and secret.

He took one last drag, exhaled slow."Alright, Richardson," he muttered. "Let's see what kind of dinner you serve."

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