I scramble for my notebook, scribbling the details:Redwood Lodge, 8 PM tomorrow, outskirts of Crestwood City.It’s a three-hour drive from here, a semi-secluded spot perfect for their shady dealings.
My hands shake as I write, adrenaline surging.
This could be the break I’ve been chasing—the chance to catch the Night Ops Guard in the act and blow their operation wide open. They think they’re untouchable, operating outside the law, but this Little might just be about to prove them wrong.
Sleep’s a lost cause now.
I haul myself off the bed, rubbing my eyes, and shuffle to my desk. Bean is staring at me from the floor, his button eyes glinting with silent encouragement.
“Don’t judge me, buddy,” I mutter, scooping him up and plopping him on the desk. “We’ve got work to do.”
I open my laptop, diving back into my research.
The leaked file is a goldmine, but it’s incomplete. I cross-reference the location with public records, pulling up property deeds and satellite images of Redwood Lodge. It’s on the edge of a small town, a sprawling are of private offices and businesses, privately owned, surrounded by a forest—perfect for a secret meeting.
I dig deeper, searching for any chatter on dark web forums about the Guard.
Nothing concrete, but whispers of their ruthlessness keep surfacing. They’re not just mercenaries; they’re ghosts, leaving no trace.
Except now, I’ve got a thread to pull.
My eyes burn as I scan through encrypted emails I’ve intercepted over the weeks. Most are coded gibberish, but one phrase sticks out:The Joker’s handling the breach.No idea what that means, but it sends a chill down my spine.
I jot it down, my mind racing.
Are they onto me? No, they can’t be.
My program’s untraceable, buried deep in their system. Still, the thought nags at me just a little.
Bean watches as I sip on the juice left in my juice box from earlier. I giggle, poking his nose.
“You’re my wingman, right?” I ask, knowing full well that Bean would do anything for me if he could.
He doesn’t answer, but his presence steadies me.
I’m a lawyer, an investigator, a grown man—but Bean is my anchor to the softer side of me, the one who still loves bright colors and cuddly things. That side keeps me sane when the world feels too heavy.
Quickly though, my head droops. I’m halfway through a report on the Guard’s rumored ties to a billionaire’s security detail when my eyes flutter shut, and the last thing I see is Bean’s fuzzy face, silently cheering me on as I slump onto the desk.
I might be closing in on my big break in this case, but despite all the excitement, even the busiest boy has to sleep…
Morning light streams through my apartment window, waking me with a crick in my neck. I groan, peeling my cheek off the desk, a sticky note clinging to my face. Bean is still there of course, unfazed.
“Thanks for the backup,” I mumble, stretching.
The clock reads 7:15 AM. I’ve got just enough time to get ready and meet Jack for breakfast before my big day of travelling to the meeting spot and doing what I need to do.
I shower quickly, the hot water washing away the fog of a sleepless night. My reflection in the mirror shows dark circles under my eyes, but there’s a spark in them too—excitement, determination.
Today, I’m taking a step closer to exposing the Night Ops Guard.
I pull on a comfy sweater, jeans, and my favorite sneakers, then pack an overnight bag: laptop, charger, notebook, a change of clothes, and, of course, Bean. I can’t leave him behind—never in a million years could I do that.
I glance at my phone.
No new alerts, but the leaked meeting details burn in my mind.
Redwood Lodge.
