Cayenne

The bar smelled of cheap whiskey, damp, and someone else's sweat. Fox sat in the corner, where the shadows fell thickest. The glass in front of him was long empty, the ice melted, leaving only a cloudy stain on the wood. The drinking brought no relief—only a sticky heaviness in his temples and a trembling in his fingers, which he tried in vain to hide by digging his nails into the edge of the table. In his jacket pocket, a small plastic rectangle burned his thigh. A flash drive. On it were things he shouldn't have seen. Other people's names. Dates. Photos that chilled his stomach. He thought it was just a client's archive. He was wrong.

The door creaked. The air in the bar seemed to thicken. Fox didn't look up, but he sensed that someone had entered for more than just a drink. The footsteps were heavy, measured, cutting off any unnecessary noise. A shadow fell over his table.

"Are you waiting for someone?" the voice sounded low, without a question, like a statement.

The fox looked up. A man in a dark coat sat down across from him without asking permission. His face was sharp and calm, his gaze dark and penetrating. He smelled of tobacco, leather, and something metallic, like a weapon heated in the sun.

“No,” the Fox exhaled hoarsely, looking away. “I’m just drinking.”

"You're not shaking from the alcohol," the man noted. His eyes slid to Lis's jacket pocket, lingering for a second. "And you're hiding your hand. You're nervous."

Brakes screeched outside. The harsh light of headlights slashed across the glass, revealing silhouettes at the entrance. Fox paled. His heart pounded against his ribs, knocking his breath out of his lungs. He pressed himself back into the chair, his fingers clutching the edge of the table.

The man instantly tensed. His shoulders straightened, and his hand slid under the hem of his coat.

"Who's behind you?" he asked. There was no calm in his voice now.

"I... accidentally downloaded a file," Fox whispered, his words coming out haltingly. "From the client's server. There were photos, lists... I thought it was a mockup. And now..."

The bar door opened slightly. A chill and the smell of the damp street wafted through the crack. Footsteps. Heavy. Closer.

The man stood up. The movement was sharp but controlled. He grabbed Lis by the wrist, harshly, leaving him no choice.