In the heart of New York City, Jacob Daniel leads a seemingly normal life, running a café near Central Park with his closest friends, Sam and Katie. But when Katie's boss is found murdered and the FBI pulls her into a high-stakes investigation, the...
The body of the assassin lay lifeless beside him, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air. Jake, bruised and battered, sat on the floor, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. His hands trembled, not just from the pain but from the adrenaline that still pulsed through his veins. Every inch of his body ached, yet his mind was sharper than ever, pushing through the exhaustion.
He looked down at the small pocket diary he'd pulled from the assassin. The leather cover was worn, edges frayed, as if it had been carried for a long time. With a deep breath, Jake opened it and began flipping through the pages.
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At first, the scribbles seemed random, but one word kept catching his eye: Aphrodite. It was written multiple times in different parts of the diary, the ink pressed harder into the paper with each instance. Below the word was a list of names, all neatly crossed out with single, deliberate lines. Jake’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the names—each one a potential victim. His stomach twisted, wondering if his name was next.
Then, as he turned to another page, his heart skipped a beat. Scrawled on one of the pages was the address of his café, The C Spot.
"Why would this guy have my café’s address?" Jake muttered to himself, the knot in his stomach tightening.
He flipped through more pages, trying to make sense of the assassin’s motives. On another page, he found something that made his blood run cold—Alexandra's hotel information, room number circled with urgency. Next to it was the word KEYS, also circled.
“The keys... Alexandra's keys…” Jake whispered, realization dawning on him. The keys she'd been so protective of—they were more than just a passing concern. They were critical, and now Jake understood why. He glanced at the body next to him, cursing under his breath. This wasn't over.
But it was the next discovery that truly confounded him. Written hastily in the assassin's rough handwriting were strange codes:
RSC-N3bul@
N0_SIGN@L
Jake stared at the cryptic characters. "What the hell are these for?" he thought. He knew that if he could crack this, it might be the key to understanding what was really happening. His mind raced, searching for an answer without a question.
Without wasting another second, Jake grabbed his phone and dialed Alexandra. The call barely rang before she picked up, her voice breathless, filled with worry.
“Jacob, mon cher... are you okay?” Alexandra’s French accent sharpened as her voice trembled.
Jake took a breath. “I’m okay, but we’ve got a problem.”
“A problem?” she repeated, the confusion in her tone evident.
“I was followed. I don’t know how long... maybe since this morning. It was a trained assassin,” Jake explained, his voice raw with exhaustion and tension.
