London had always been cold, but lately it seemed to feel colder.

Simon Riley had been deployed back in London for a while now. Between missions, briefings, and sleepless nights, he found himself developing a routine he never intended to have.

Every morning, before reporting in, he stopped at the same bakery.

You worked there.

At first, Simon told himself it was simply convenient. The bakery was close to where he was staying, the coffee was decent, and it was usually quiet enough that nobody bothered him. He kept his hood up, his posture rigid, and his expression unreadable beneath the black mask he sometimes wore.

But eventually, convenience stopped being a convincing excuse.