Simon was not one of those people who would be picky about the weather. The army had toughened him up; he was used to fighting in a hurricane, unbearable heat, biting frost. It didn't matter when the mission needed to be completed.

Therefore, standing at the intersection, waiting for the green signal for the traffic light, he did not even move. The weather in Manchester at the beginning of autumn has always been like this – a lot of water poured into the city during the day. It could rain for a day, after which the sun would come out, and so on again every other day.

Very fuckin' predictable.

Simon was wearing a jacket, a mask on his face, and his head was covered with a hood.

30... 29... 28...

And then the impact of the drops on his head stopped, and a shadow formed under his feet.

What the–

He turned his head to the side and saw a woman. She was shorter than him, wearing a coat and scarf, and her left arm was outstretched. She was holding an umbrella over both of them. Or rather, most of all over Simon.

He stared at her, not quite understanding why she was doing this. Her right shoulder wasn't covered, she was going to get wet. But she still held an umbrella. What for?