Daniel Reed hated spreadsheets.
He hated the way the cells locked him into a grid of predictable, mundane logic. He hated the fluorescent lights that hummed like dying insects above his cubicle, casting a sickly, sterile pallor over the grey carpet. He hated the smell of burnt coffee drifting in from the breakroom—a cheap, acidic roast that tasted like despair.
But mostly, he hated the acting.
For three years, he had played the role of "Daniel the Logistics Manager" with the dedication of a method actor. He wore shirts that were slightly too loose to hide the definition of his shoulders. He wore non-prescription glasses to soften the predatory sharpness of his eyes. He deliberately walked with a slight slouch, shrinking his six-foot-two frame to appear less imposing, less… capable.
"Daniel, hey, got a sec?"
Daniel didn't flinch. He counted to two—a slow, confused reaction time—before turning his chair around.
Gary, his manager, leaned over the partition. Gary was forty-five, soft around the middle, and wore ties that were always three inches too short. He was a man whose biggest tactical decision of the week was choosing between a glazed donut or an everything bagel.
"Hey, Gary," Daniel said, pitching his voice up a semitone. He made it sound mild. Submissive. "What's up?"
"Did you see the email from Corporate? The Ohio shipment is flagged again. Total nightmare." Gary wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "If those auto parts don't hit the assembly line by Friday, my neck is on the block."
Daniel looked at Gary's neck. It was fleshy and exposed.
Carotid artery, Daniel's mind supplied automatically. Exposed. Strike point. 1.2 seconds to unconsciousness. 4 seconds to death.
He blinked the thought away.
"I saw it, Gary," Daniel said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'm already handling it. I rerouted the shipment through the Cleveland distribution hub. I paid the rush fee on the corporate card. It'll be there by Tuesday morning."
Gary's face went from panic to relief in an instant. "Seriously? You already fixed it?"
"Just doing my job."
"You're a lifesaver, Dan. Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you." Gary slapped the partition wall, a weak, hollow sound. "I'm heading out early. Golf practice. You good to lock up?"
"I've got it covered," Daniel said.
"Great. See you tomorrow, Dan!"
Gary waddled away toward the elevators.
Daniel watched him go. The moment Gary turned the corner, the mild, confused expression vanished from Daniel's face. It didn't just fade; it was wiped clean, replaced by a cold, bored neutrality.
He turned back to his monitors.
The screensaver had activated—a generic picture of a beach.
Daniel stared at his dark reflection in the glass.
Who are you today?
Just Daniel.
He tapped the keyboard, waking the machine. He minimized the logistics software and opened a command prompt window. It was black text on a white background, boring and technical to the untrained eye.
He typed a sequence of keystrokes that bypassed the company firewall in three seconds. Then, he accessed a server located in a basement in Zurich.
CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.
USER: GHOST
STATUS: DORMANT
Daniel stared at the word. Ghost.
It was his old callsign. The name whispered in briefing rooms from Moscow to Langley. The man who didn't exist. The man who solved problems that couldn't officially be solved.
He hadn't taken a contract in three years. Not since he met Elena. Not since he looked at her in that coffee shop and realized that he wanted to build something instead of destroying everything he touched.
A notification blinked in the corner of the hidden window.
INBOX (1) - ENCRYPTED
His heart rate didn't spike. It slowed. A physiological response to danger that he had been trained to master since he was eighteen.
He hovered the cursor over the message.
It could be nothing. Spam. A ping from an old contact.
Or it could be a summons.
He didn't click it.
If I open it, I'm back in.
He hit the delete key. Then he purged the cache. The window vanished, replaced by the innocent spreadsheet of auto parts.
"Not today," he whispered to the empty office. "I have a mortgage. I have a wife. I have a life."
He stood up, grabbing his beige windbreaker. He shut down the computer, turned off the lights, and walked to the elevator.
As the doors slid shut, enclosing him in the metal box, Daniel rolled his neck. Crack. Crack.
He rolled his shoulders back, fixing his posture. The slump vanished. His spine straightened. His chest expanded.
For eight hours a day, he was a sheep.
But as the elevator descended toward the basement, the wolf woke up.
The parking garage smelled of gasoline, damp concrete, and old exhaust. It was quiet, save for the distant hum of ventilation fans.
Daniel walked toward his car—a silver 2018 sedan. Sensible. Reliable. Utterly forgettable. The perfect camouflage.
He didn't walk directly to the door. He walked past the rear bumper, his eyes sweeping the ground.
He "accidentally" dropped his keys.
"Clumsy," he muttered, loud enough to produce an echo.
He crouched down to retrieve them. In that split second, his eyes scanned the undercarriage of the vehicle.
Wheel wells clear. Exhaust pipe clear. No magnetic box on the fuel tank.
He stood up, satisfied. No trackers. No explosives.
He unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat. The interior smelled of the vanilla air freshener Elena had bought him.
Before he put the key in the ignition, he reached under his seat. His fingers brushed against a cold, textured surface.
A Heckler & Koch VP9, mounted in a magnetic holster. Loaded. One in the chamber.
He didn't draw it. He just needed to know it was there. A talisman against the world he was trying to forget.
He started the engine and pulled out of the garage, merging into the evening commuter traffic.
Usually, the drive home was his decompression time. He would listen to audiobooks on Roman history or personal finance. He would think about dinner. He would think about Elena.
Elena.
Just the thought of her name softened the hard edges of his mind. She was the only clean thing in his life. The only thing he hadn't tainted. She thought he was boring. She thought he was safe.
She didn't know that the hands holding this steering wheel had ended thirty-two lives across four continents.
He would die before he let her find out. He would burn the world down to keep her in the light.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
Traffic was moderate. The usual suburban flow.
A red pickup truck with a ladder rack.
A blue minivan with a "Baby on Board" sticker.
A grey sedan. Nondescript. Tinted windows.
Daniel changed lanes to the right.
The red truck passed him.
The minivan passed him.
The grey sedan changed lanes to the right, staying three car lengths behind.
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
Coincidence?
He tapped the brakes, just enough to flare the lights, then accelerated slightly.
The grey sedan matched his speed perfectly.
Not a coincidence.
"Okay," Daniel whispered. The warmth drained from his voice, leaving only cold calculation. "Let's play."
He took the next exit—Exit 4B. It led to an industrial park that was mostly warehouses and empty lots at this hour. There was no reason for casual traffic to be here.
The grey sedan signaled and took the exit behind him.
Daniel felt a familiar icy calm settle over him. The office worker was gone. The Ghost was driving now.
He didn't speed up. Panic makes you sloppy. Speed draws attention.
He maintained a steady thirty-five miles per hour. He reached into the center console and tapped a button on his phone, activating the rear dashcam feed.
He zoomed in on the screen.
Standard sedan. No front license plate—illegal in this state. The windshield was tinted darker than the legal limit.
Who are you?
The Agency?
The cartel from Juarez?
Or just a private investigator hired by a competitor?
Daniel took a sharp left turn, then an immediate right into a gas station. He didn't pull up to the pumps. He drove around the back, near the air pump, and killed his headlights.
He watched the road through the gap in the hedge.
The grey sedan rolled past. It slowed down, brake lights flaring red in the gloom. The driver was hesitating. Looking.
Then, the sedan accelerated and disappeared down the road.
They weren't ready to engage. They were just watching. Scouting.
Daniel let out a long breath through his nose. His grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
They found me.
The thought was a cold stone in his gut. He had been so careful. New identity. New face. New life.
He waited five minutes, watching the road. When he was sure they were gone, he pulled back onto the street.
He couldn't go home yet. He was vibrating with adrenaline. If he walked through the front door like this, Elena would notice. She was observant in her own way. She would see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders.
He needed to reset.
He stopped at a high-end grocery store three blocks from their neighborhood.
The automatic doors slid open, blasting him with cool, conditioned air. He grabbed a basket.
He walked the aisles, forcing himself to move slowly. He picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir—Elena's favorite. He spent a full minute comparing two blocks of aged cheddar, even though he didn't care about cheese.
He was checking the convex security mirrors in the corners of the ceiling.
Is anyone following me on foot?
Blue jacket, aisle 4? No, just a dad buying diapers.
Woman in the green coat? No, she's on the phone.
Clear.
He grabbed a bag of dark chocolate truffles from the checkout line—the expensive kind Elena pretended were "too rich" but always finished in two days.
He paid with cash. Always cash for small purchases. No digital trail.
Back in the car, he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He bared his teeth. A predator's snarl.
Then he relaxed his face. He smoothed the lines around his eyes. He forced the corners of his mouth up.
Softer. Be softer.
Be Daniel.
When he smiled, it almost reached his eyes.
Good enough.
He pulled into the driveway of the two-story craftsman house at 6:15 PM exactly.
The porch light was glowing, a warm beacon in the twilight. The lawn was freshly mowed. The world here was quiet. Safe.
He saw Elena's car parked in the garage.
Relief washed over him, physically loosening the muscles in his back. She was home. She was safe.
He grabbed the grocery bag and walked to the front door. He unlocked it, stepping inside.
"I'm home!" he called out, injecting a cheerful lilt into his voice.
The house smelled divine. Garlic, basil, simmering tomatoes, and the faint, sweet scent of vanilla.
"In the kitchen!" Elena called back.
Daniel walked down the hallway. He loosened his tie, playing the part of the tired businessman.
He stepped into the kitchen.
Elena was standing at the island counter, her back to him. She was chopping bell peppers. The rhythm was fast. Chop-chop-chop-chop.
Daniel paused.
Something was wrong.
It was subtle. To anyone else, she just looked like a woman making dinner. But Daniel had spent his life reading body language. He noticed the micro-signals.
Her shoulders were pulled up slightly toward her ears. Tension.
Her feet were planted wide apart. A stable base.
And the knife…
She wasn't holding the chef's knife loosely by the handle. Her grip was choked up high near the blade. Her knuckles were white.
That's a hammer grip, Daniel thought. That's how you hold a knife when you expect to stab something, not slice it.
"You're early," she said, turning around.
The transition was instantaneous. The tension in her shoulders dropped. Her face softened into a dazzling smile.
"Couldn't wait to see you," Daniel said, walking over.
He kissed her forehead. He wanted to grab her shoulders and ask, What happened? Who was here? Why are you holding a knife like you're ready to gut someone?
But he couldn't.
If he asked those questions, he would have to explain how he knew the difference between a chef's grip and a combat grip.
"How was the café?" he asked instead, leaning against the counter.
"Busy. But good," she said. She turned back to the stove, sliding the peppers into a pan. "Sarah broke a mug. The usual."
Liar, Daniel thought.
He could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. It was fast. Elevated.
"HR approved the health plan upgrade," he said, forcing himself to talk about the mundane boring life they had built. "You know… for the future."
Elena paused. She looked at him, her hazel eyes searching his face. For a second, he thought she saw through him. He thought she saw the Ghost staring back.
"That's great, Daniel," she said softly.
"You seem tense," he ventured.
"Do I?"
"A little."
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked around the island. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shirt.
"Just a long day," she murmured. "I'm just tired."
"Me too," Daniel whispered, resting his chin on top of her head.
He held her tight. He stared out the kitchen window at the dark backyard. The shadows stretched long and deep across the lawn.
I know you're lying, Elena, he thought. But it's okay. I'll protect you from whatever has you scared.
"Let's eat," she said, pulling away.
"Starving," he replied.
It was the only honest thing he had said all day.