The ambulance sirens faded into the stormy night, leaving Noah alone on the wet asphalt. A tiny, metallic flash drive burned a hole in his soaked apron pocket.
He looked back at the Midnight Harbor Cafe. Through the rain-streaked glass, the terrified wealthy patrons were entirely gone. Only Alden remained.
His manager wasn’t polishing glasses anymore. He was screwing a silencer onto a sleek black pistol.
Noah pushed through the glass doors. The warm amber lighting of the cafe now felt like a cage.
“You have a good heart, Noah,” Alden said, the bureaucratic whine gone from his voice, replaced by a chilling calm. “But terrible survival instincts. Hand it over.”
Noah backed against the espresso counter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dante’s drive,” Alden stepped forward, raising the weapon. “He didn’t stumble here by accident. He came to sell me out. Toss it.”
Trembling, Noah reached into his apron. He pulled out a silver USB stick and slid it across the mahogany counter. Alden smirked, grabbing it.
“Good boy. Consider yourself fired.” Alden aimed directly at Noah’s chest.
*Click.*
The cafe plunged into pitch darkness. Simultaneously, the commercial espresso machine hissed violently, purging a blinding blast of scalding steam directly into Alden’s face.
The manager shrieked, dropping the gun.
Noah didn’t run. Moving with lethal precision, he vaulted the counter and slammed the heavy brass portafilter into the back of Alden’s skull. The manager crumpled to the floor, out cold.
Noah stood over him, perfectly calm. He pulled the *real* flash drive from his shoe—matte black, stamped with a single star. The silver one on the floor was just the cafe’s jazz playlist.
Pulling Dante’s ringing smartphone from his pocket, Noah answered.
“The intel is secure,” Noah said, his voice suddenly icy, rolling up his wet sleeve to reveal a black star tattoo on his own wrist. “Tell Dante his busboy is clocking out.”