4345.97 · April 7, 2025 AD
Flat White, Window Table
Nathan shows the photograph expecting nothing. Kelly glances at the screen and says three words that shatter years of searching. The man Nathan has hunted across continents, through encrypted networks and dead-end trails, has been drinking flat whites at the Leaf & Bean every Thursday morning. Sitting at the window table. Meeting Kelly's brother. The universe has a particular cruelty—hiding answers in plain sight while you look everywhere else.
Nathan won't leave Edinburgh. Not yet. Not when Luke Smith remains unfound.
He produces the photograph expecting blank faces—another dead end in years of searching. Instead, Kelly's expression flickers with recognition so casual it takes a moment to register.
"He ordered a flat white. Every Thursday morning, around nine-thirty. Always took it at the window table."
The silence that follows has weight. Nathan has spent years tracking Luke through encrypted channels and surveillance networks, through Guardian intelligence and counter-intelligence protocols. He's navigated digital fortresses and operational dead zones searching for a ghost.
That ghost has been sitting in the café where Nathan worked. Meeting Kelly's brother Noah. Drinking tea in Kelly's flat.
The cosmic irony breaks something in Nathan—or perhaps repairs it, redirecting frustration into sudden, laser-focused purpose. Kelly's flat. Noah's connection. A direct line to the man who's eluded every sophisticated search protocol Nathan has deployed.
The group splits. Douglas leads the Campbells deeper into the tunnels toward promised safety. Nathan turns toward Edinburgh's surface, toward Kelly's flat, toward a lead too direct to ignore.
Some answers hide best where you'd never think to look.
