Daniel nodded, his mind racing faster than Sherman's about the CIS.
But there was nothing to be done at present. No international big shot had emerged to solve the problem instantly.
"Alright, you can head out," Sherman said, massaging his temples with long and slender fingers.
As Daniel turned to leave, just before he reached the door, Sherman's voice followed him, "Turn the lights off on your way out, would you?"
Daniel paused, a frown flickering across his face. He suspected that Sherman had summoned him in the middle of the night just to have him switch off the lights.
The next morning.
Anthea munched on a bagel while scrolling through her phone, her expression serene. Her delicate fingertips tapped the screen, then suddenly stopped on a page.
It was a listing for an apartment rental.
A house with three bedrooms and one living room cost five hundred bucks a month, which seemed fair.
She tapped into the listing and started chatting with the landlord to set up a time to view the apartment.
After breakfast, Anthea made her way to the address.
The neighborhood was a mix of retirees and blue-collar workers, a far cry from luxurious but leagues better than a basement flat.
The apartment she was interested in was on the ground floor with a small garden out front.
The landlord, a kindly old lady with spectacles perched on her nose, greeted her in the unmistakable Cloudcrest dialect.
Through their conversation, Anthea learned that the old lady was a retired professor from Cloudcrest University.
"How many of you are planning to live here, Anthea?" she inquired.
"Just me, my mom, and my uncle," Anthea replied.
The old lady nodded, "I don't have many rules, just keep the place clean. My last tenants seemed nice enough but left the place a mess!"
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