POV: NOAH WILLIAMS.
I stood in the square, just minutes from the scheduled delivery time.
The morning air had already lost its freshness and was beginning to mix with the smell of frying from a food truck in the corner of the square.
A woman, leaning against the food truck counter, chewed a sandwich while chatting with the attendant, laughing loudly.
I observed the movement carefully, trying to engrave every face and every suspicious gesture.
The square was in a very busy part of the city, next to the school where Miguel was temporarily infiltrated to keep an eye on the girl.
That area was between an avenue and a gym. It had stone paths, grassy islands, and aligned benches.
In the center, a colorful playground, with a slide, swings, and a wooden tower, where the laughter of children was characteristic.
There were curved lamps on small sidewalk posts; in the background, the red warehouse and the hills formed a peaceful boundary.
The sun warmed the concrete; the smell of fresh grass mixed with the distant rumble of bus engines entering and leaving the bus station in the background.
'Very connected place… School, square, bus station, and a courthouse, practically stuck together'
The city seemed to suddenly come alive, which was characteristic at certain times, as if someone had flicked an invisible switch.
The streets filled with hurried people, school buses flying low past stops, trucks passing loaded with random goods. Some street vendors competed for space and attention, announcing their products in almost rehearsed voices.
The sound of coins jingling and bags opening mixed with the roar of engines.
It was an intense and chaotic flow, the kind of environment perfect for H to move contraband without attracting attention.
Here, a man could transport a valuable package in plain sight and still seem invisible.
There were no barriers or inspection systems at the entrances and exits there.
Even if there were, I had no confidence whatsoever in the local police to ensure they worked. In fact, there was a good chance that H had already bought off part of the police force.
The SFR firmly believed that he was exploiting precisely this fragility.
Guarda-Sol's operations used to be meticulous, large, and complex, involving multiple intermediaries and redundant routes.
But the current movement was different, less planned, almost hurried. I thought about the last few weeks.
H had always been impulsive, but since Budapest, something had changed. I clearly remembered the cold night by the Danube, when we last encountered him.
That calculating look he always carried seemed to have been replaced by an almost anxious urgency. Now he was more careless, leaving traces he would never have allowed before.
This didn't fit the man we knew. We managed to track him more easily than usual, and that didn't seem like a simple coincidence to me.
Perhaps it was a trick, a trap to lure us in. Or perhaps H was under pressure from something bigger, something he couldn't even control.
I finished mentally analyzing the risks, but the feeling that something was out of place remained like a cold weight on the back of my neck.
'Probably, GS has some crazy idea for H…'
I checked my wrist watch to check the time, as the emissary should arrive at any moment. Since the delivery time had already passed by a few minutes.
As if hearing my thoughts, a bus pulled up to the bus station platform, braking with a loud screech that echoed through the area.
The doors opened with a metallic click, and the mass of passengers began to move like a single organism, disembarking in a hurry and dispersing in various directions.
I moved away from the open part of the square and walked to a position where I could observe without being seen, leaning against a tree, looking directly at the boarding platform.
Among the people getting off, I noticed a man wearing discreet, almost generic clothes, typical of emissaries: a plain shirt, a dark jacket, resistant fabric pants, and a cheap cap.
It was the kind of appearance that would go unnoticed anywhere.
He looked at me quickly, and in that brief instant, gave a slight confirmation signal with his hand.
An almost imperceptible movement for any casual observer.
He was lightly pressing the wrist of his left hand, touching twice where a dominator's signature mark would be; that was a way to verify if I had the signature mark that would prove I was the person he was supposed to deliver to.
I replied with my literary mark: a subtle gesture, almost imperceptible, but laden with the symbolism of the Fire of Liberty.
It was my identifying signal within the organization, known only to those who truly belonged to it. The man caught the response and, without hesitation, walked to the side of the bus station.
He stopped next to a simple trash can with the city hall symbol, opened it with a natural movement, and placed a small envelope inside.
He didn't look back, didn't quicken his pace, nor made any gesture that would betray anxiety. He simply kept walking, blending into the crowd already waiting for the next bus.
I approached the area slowly, trying to keep an eye on the surroundings, as if I were just observing the movement.
Two teenagers were arguing about soccer near a kiosk, a man was talking on the phone with his back to me, and an old woman was trying to calm a crying child.
Everything seemed normal.
When the area was momentarily clear, I reached into the trash can and retrieved the envelope with a quick movement, hiding it under my jacket.
The weight was small, but enough to confirm that something was inside.
I started walking back the way I came. As I walked along the sidewalk, I discreetly opened the envelope and examined the contents.
It was what I expected: the report, packaged and sealed as usual.
I checked the internal seals and authentication marks. Everything seemed in order; it had the SFR letterhead, internal codes, and a security stamp.
When I arrived at the Trilegal Hotel, the usual receptionist looked up from his book to greet me. I gave a slight nod and headed to the elevator.
And quickly went up to my room. I closed the door behind me, locking it with the key.
The report contained images of some places with general information and QP signatures indicating H's possible presence, each with coordinates and detailed annotations.
Four locations with high magical energies were detected in recent days; these were areas scattered throughout the municipality, and I would have to investigate each of them.
The first point, and the priority, would be the grove in the city center, near the entrance to the more isolated and rural neighborhoods of the city.
The images showed a long green field with waist-high grass and some faded dirt trails, and several wide-crowned trees with thick trunks around.
Popular for being a drug trafficking point, it deserved maximum attention. I closed the file and remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the wall in front of me.
Each of these places could be a trap or the missing piece to understand what H was planning in that city.
I would have to be quick, precise, and, above all, invisible.
'It's time to investigate…'