Evening crept over Northvale, stretching shadows through the narrow streets and painting the skyline gold. Inside the small rented flat, Frank stood near the mirror, buttoning his shirt. His expression was calm, but his eyes—sharp and deliberate—betrayed the soldier beneath the civility.
Behind him, Zoey rummaged through her half-unpacked suitcase. "You sure you want to go?" she asked without looking up. "We could just stay in, order sothing, and call it a night."
Frank glanced at her reflection. "It’s not about the dinner," he said. "It’s about the impression."
Zoey sighed, pulling on a soft blue blouse. "You and your impressions."
He smirked faintly. "They’re what keep us alive."
She chuckled and tied her hair back. "So, should I wear my badge too, Detective Miller?"
"Only if you want to terrify the neighbors," he said, slipping his watch on. "Leave the cop face at ho."
As they were about to head out, Zoey noticed him slide sothing small into his jacket pocket. "That better not be what I think it is."
"Just a precaution," Frank said, checking the pocket. "Audio recorder. Harmless."
"Right," she muttered. "Because that’s totally normal for dinner."
He shrugged. "Normal’s overrated."
The Richardson ho was warm, bright, and slled like rosemary and baked bread. A yellow porch light flickered faintly above the door as they knocked.
Elaine Richardson opened first—a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes and flour on her hands. "Oh, you must be Frank and Zoey! Co in, co in."
Her husband followed, grinning widely. "Glad you could make it! Elaine’s been fussing in the kitchen all afternoon."
Frank smiled politely. "We didn’t want to impose."
"Nonsense," Richardson said. "It’s not every day we get new neighbors who actually say hello."
The living room was cozy—family photos, an old record player, a wall clock ticking softly. The sll of roasted at drifted in from the dining room.
"Chloe," Elaine called, "our guests are here!"
A mont later, Chloe appeared—a young woman in her late teens, bright-eyed and curious. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "Dad told us you both just moved in."
"That’s right," Zoey said, returning the smile. "Still trying to make the place feel like ho."
"Give it ti," Chloe said. "Northvale grows on you."
Frank nodded faintly, scanning the room out of habit. Two doors to the kitchen, one hallway leading deeper in, and—he noticed—a faint reflection of light through a windowpane, like soone smoking outside. He didn’t ntion it.
Dinner began smoothly enough. The table was set with candles and simple cutlery, plates steaming with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Conversation was casual at first—light, easy.
"So what brings you two to Northvale?" Elaine asked, passing Zoey the salad bowl.
"Work," Frank said simply. "We’re consultants. Data analytics."
"Oh, tech people!" Richardson said brightly. "Perfect fit for this city."
"Sothing like that," Frank replied, managing a small grin.
The talk shifted to the neighborhood—shops, the bakery on the corner, local gossip. Chloe complained about college lectures, Elaine teased her husband about forgetting the trash, and for a brief mont, it all felt... normal.
Until the conversation turned.
Richardson leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "You know," he said casually, "my nephew used to work over at Vertex Technologies."
Zoey’s hand froze on her glass.
Frank didn’t move, but his mind sharpened. "Oh?" he asked carefully. "Big company, right?"
"Yeah," Richardson said. "Left a few months ago. Told things were getting... ssy."
"ssy how?" Frank’s tone was polite but edged.
Richardson shrugged. "He didn’t say much. Just that there were ’projects’ he didn’t want his na on. Sothing to do with internal caras, privacy issues—crazy stuff. Half the city’s under surveillance anyway, but this? Even he said it felt wrong."
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then Elaine chuckled softly. "Please, dear, not at the dinner table."
Chloe grinned. "Dad loves his conspiracy theories."
Richardson laughed it off, waving a hand. "Ah, maybe. But Northvale’s built on secrets. You live here long enough, you stop asking questions."
Frank’s fork paused mid-air. "That’s dangerous advice."
"Maybe," Richardson said. "But it’s the truth."
After that, the mood lightened again—on the surface. Zoey kept smiling, but her mind was spinning.Vertex. Caras. Leaks. How much did this man know?She forced a laugh at one of Elaine’s jokes and reached for her glass again, trying to hide her shaking hand.
Frank, anwhile, cataloged every detail—the family photo near the fireplace, the sound of a faint chanical hum upstairs, and the way Richardson’s mother, silent all evening, occasionally looked at him with oddly focused eyes.
They finished dinner with polite complints. Elaine insisted they try her homade pie.
"You’re not leaving without dessert," she said, half-command, half-plea.
"Wouldn’t dream of it," Frank replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Zoey excused herself to use the washroom. As she stepped down the hallway, her heels clicking softly on the wooden floor, she noticed a window slightly ajar. A faint draft brushed her arm—and a movent outside. A silhouette, standing too still, too long.
Her pulse jumped.She turned away, walked quickly back to the table.
When she reached Frank, she leaned close, her voice low. "We need to go."
Frank didn’t look at her. "Why?"
"Soone’s outside. Watching."
He didn’t react. He just cut another piece of pie, calm as ever. "Smile," he whispered. "Finish the bite."
She followed his lead, forcing a smile as Elaine asked, "Everything alright, dear?"
"Perfect," Zoey said lightly. "Delicious pie."
They stayed five more minutes, long enough to finish dessert. Frank thanked them for the evening, explaining that they had early work in the morning.
Richardson followed them to the porch. "Good neighbors are hard to co by," he said warmly. "Don’t be strangers."
Frank nodded. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
He shook the man’s hand, eyes steady. The grip was firm, a second too long. When Richardson smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes either.
Outside, the air was cold. Zoey exhaled hard as soon as they stepped off the porch.
"Frank, I’m telling you—soone was there."
"I know," he said quietly.
"You saw them?"
"No. But I slled cigarette smoke. The sa brand I saw in the alley yesterday morning."
She frowned. "You think they’re connected to Vertex?"
"I think they’re connected to sothing. And our neighbors know more than they should."
They walked in silence the rest of the way. The only sound was the hum of the streetlights and the crunch of gravel under their shoes.
Back at the flat, Frank went straight to the dining table and pulled out the small recorder from his pocket. He connected it to his laptop, expecting chatter, laughter—anything from dinner. Instead, there was static. A low, heavy buzz.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Signal’s jamd."
Zoey looked uneasy. "What does that an?"
"Soone was blocking the feed. You don’t get interference like that from family dinners."
Her voice dropped. "You think they knew we were recording?"
Frank didn’t answer. He walked to the window, staring at the house across the street. The lights were still on in the Richardson ho. Through the half-drawn curtains, he could see a shadow moving slowly past the living room.
"They knew," he said finally.
Zoey crossed her arms. "Frank, maybe you’re reading too much into it. Could just be coincidence."
He turned his head slightly. "You know I don’t believe in coincidence."
The silence stretched between them. The city outside humd, distant and indifferent.
Zoey sighed, rubbing her temple. "So what do we do now?"
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "we go to Vertex. We blend in. But tonight..." He took another look out the window. "We keep the lights off."
She hesitated. "You think they’ll co?"
He didn’t answer. Just lit a cigarette, watching the faint orange glow reflect in the glass. Across the street, a curtain shifted again—like soone had just stepped away from it.
He exhaled smoke, slow and asured. "This city doesn’t do coincidences," he murmured.
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