Maxwell "Max" Rivers stepped into the dimly lit café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the low hum of quiet conversations. His sharp suit fit perfectly, a stark contrast to the casual patrons scattered around the room. He scanned the area with a practiced eye, taking note of every detail—who was sitting where, the subtle exchanges, the faint rustle of papers from behind a corner booth.

He approached the counter and ordered a simple black coffee, his demeanor cold and professional. As the barista handed him his cup, Max's eyes flicked to the door. He knew they were coming soon. His intel was clear, but the timing... it was always the timing that was unpredictable.

Max took a slow sip of his coffee, but his mind wasn’t on the taste. He wasn’t here for the atmosphere. He was here for one reason: to make contact.

And then, the door opened.