Harry Clifton was a man who liked his mornings quiet, unbroken by the world outside. The soft hum of the city beyond his window usually gave him a sense of calm, a rhythm that matched the ticking of his old bedside clock. But that morning, the familiar comfort was shattered by the shrill, insistent ringing of the phone.
He lay still for a moment, caught between sleep and wakefulness, wondering if the sound was real-or just a fragment of a dream. His eyes fell on the glowing green hands of the clock: 6:43 a.m. A small, knowing smile curved his lips. Only one person would dare to call him at this hour. And that meant something-something urgent, something impossible to ignore.
As Harry reached for the phone, a strange mix of anticipation and unease ran through him. Whatever awaited on the other end of the line would pull him from the comfort of his bed into a day that promised secrets, tension, and a mystery he could never have imagined.
