He wrote nothing.
No report.
No assessment.
No classification.
The encounter with Ruba had left a mark he couldn't explain.
There was nothing suspicious about her — no movement, no phrase, no glance.
And yet, illogically, he couldn't forget the sound of her voice saying:
"It was a pleasant conversation, Adam."
In the following days, Ruba carried on with her life as if nothing had happened.
She returned to the same café, sat in the same corner, with the same book, same cup.
Everything seemed ordinary. And that disturbed him more.
Who acts that normal after a strange meeting with a man they don't know?
Who reconstructs their day with such calm, as if no one is watching?
He observed her carefully.
This time, she entered a different bookstore, bought a philosophical novel, then sat in a public park, reading as if the world didn't exist.
He wrote in his notebook:
"No signs of surveillance awareness. No direct reaction. But there's a quiet consistency… unsettling."
That night, he returned to his temporary base.
He reopened her file.
Her life was normal—no security records, no political involvement, no known conflicts.
Just a girl who loved reading, solitude, and long silences.
But why did it feel like she was hiding something… without actually hiding it?
---
On the third day, he arrived at the café before her.
He chose a different table, wanting to see her without being seen.
She entered.
Same steps. Same calm look. Same controlled serenity.
But he noticed one new detail:
This time, she didn't look around.
As if she knew he was there… and didn't care.
While watching her from afar, a thought occurred to him for the first time in his career:
"Maybe I'm the one being watched… without realizing it."
Ruba didn't seem dangerous.
But she had become a possibility.
And possibilities like that… were unacceptable to The Shadow.
---
The next day, he decided to arrive even earlier.
He picked a seat near the door, one that gave him a wide view without drawing attention.
He wanted to see her the moment she walked in—to read her expression from the very first second.
She arrived on time, with her usual pace—calm, composed.
But something was different this time.
There was nothing in her behavior that hinted she had noticed him.
No glance his way, no hesitation, no change in rhythm.
She sat.
Opened a new book.
Coffee cup on the table.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet for the first time…
He felt like she was directing the scene.
She wasn't just a girl he was observing.
It was as if she was re-performing her day in front of him—with identical details, the same