A slim man in a black suit glanced around the dimly lit hallway. His sharp eyes briefly lingered on the surveillance cameras before lowering as he approached the target's apartment door.
"This target is unusual, Mr. Reese. I recommend you observe for a while longer rather than breaking in directly," a slightly nervous male voice crackled in his earpiece. However, Reese ignored the advice and continued picking the apartment lock with a skeleton key.
"The target is in danger," Reese said, his voice rich and charismatic, perfectly complementing his sharp features and well-tailored suit. He was tall and lean, his toned muscles filling out his clothing like armor. The word "gentleman" seemed tailor-made for him. His short, dark hair was streaked with a touch of gray, adding to his charm. When persuasion was part of the job, Reese's appearance often worked to his advantage.
"There are many unidentified individuals watching this building," he continued while working on the lock. "I can tell they're agents. Very vigilant. They monitor everyone coming and going from this place. The target likely knows this; he never opens his curtains and rarely leaves, except for trips to the supermarket."
"You're missing my point, Mr. Reese. Solomon Damonet—British citizen, senior at Eton College, preparing for his A-Level exams. No criminal record. No dental records. No medical check-ups—aside from his newborn screenings. He doesn't even have social media. His social security number was only issued a few years ago. He appears to hold dual British-American citizenship. The only notable information about him is his participation in the EU Young Scientist Competition. Oh, and I did trace his birth certificate. He was born in New York, his mother died in childbirth, and his newborn vaccinations were administered in a New York hospital. But his registered nationality is British—remind me, Mr. Reese, do I need to explain the tuition costs at Eton College?"
"Looks like someone took good care of him," Reese replied.
"That's the problem. He has no legal guardian. London and New York only have a five-hour time difference, and flights between the two cities take about eight hours. Aside from a recent leave of absence, he's attended all his classes. Which means…"
"Which means there could be two Solomon Damonets. Identity theft, perhaps. We've seen it before—but he's still a minor, Finch."
Reese finally opened the door. Sitting on the doormat was a fat, gray short-haired cat.
"The New York Solomon Damonet is living with two beautiful women," Reese added, locking eyes with the cat. "And he owns a cat with bizarre markings."
"You'd better hurry, Mr. Reese," Finch urged. "I just saw a stranger enter the building, and he's heading upstairs. I think he might be connected to Solomon Damonet. This person is too clean—I can't determine whether he's a threat, but there are too many unknowns about him."
"Meow~" The fat cat yawned lazily, stepping off the carpet and waddling away.
"I'll be quick, Finch." Reese followed the cat into the apartment, stepping onto the carpet just as Finch heard a dull thud through the earpiece.
"Are you alright, Mr. Reese?"
"I'm fine… I think I just discovered why this person is under surveillance, Finch," Reese said breathlessly. "This man… is a wizard."
"What are you talking about?"
"He has a flying rug, Finch… Ugh, don't worry, I can get out of this. Maybe he doesn't need our help after all." Reese struggled against the rug, which had coiled tightly around him.
"Uh… the machine must've had a reason for flagging his number," Finch stammered.
"I'm guessing you didn't account for wizards when designing that machine… It's not that surprising. Aliens and portals are in New York, after all," Reese replied, still gasping.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, Finch… huff…"
Grant Ward ascended the stairs, carrying a metal briefcase. Inside were documents his superior, Agent Coulson, had tasked him with delivering to the target. But as Ward approached the apartment, a sense of déjà vu crept over him. Everything—the hallway, the turn, the placement of the security camera, even the fat gray cat—felt eerily familiar.
Why do I taste tea? Ward wondered, suddenly aware of the faint flavor lingering in his mouth. And why does this carpet look so…
His thoughts froze as he turned a corner and spotted a man emerging from the carpet, panting and clutching a knife.
"Hey! Hands up! Who are you, and why are you here? Drop your weapon—I repeat, drop your weapon!" Ward shouted, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Reese.
Reese sighed and spoke quietly into his earpiece. "Finch, I've got company."
Turning to face Ward, Reese dropped the knife onto the floor and slowly removed his handgun from his waistband, placing it beside the knife. Then he raised his hands in surrender.
"Get inside. Hands behind your back. Lie down on the floor," Ward ordered, trying to avoid drawing attention to the scene. Reese complied, entering the apartment and lying face-down as instructed.
This wasn't Reese's first time facing danger. He had once worked for the CIA and had survived far more perilous situations.
And he would survive this one too.
Ward, still holding his gun, retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his belt. As he bent down to restrain Reese, an invisible force wrapped around his ankle and yanked him off balance. Ward hit the floor hard, his head slamming into the ground. A flash of distorted shadows and swirling colors filled his vision, and his pistol flew from his hand.
Seizing the opportunity, Reese leapt up and tackled Ward. He needed answers, and the agent was his best lead.
But before Reese could pin Ward, the same unseen force grabbed Reese by the collar and hoisted him into the air. He flailed for a moment before being hurled against the wall.
Ward, recovering from his initial disorientation, tried to stand but was once again knocked down by the mysterious force.
The Cheshire Cat watched the two men with a bored expression, yawning as it rested its multiple chins on its paw. These two-legged creatures were so dull. There weren't even any females around—why were they fighting?
"You've got to be kidding me. I go to Mexico to buy some green chili sauce, and two people try to break into my apartment?" Solomon muttered as he entered, grabbing both intruders by the collars. His magical security system had clearly given them a rough welcome.
This was the result of a modified Fifth Circle Spell: "Wizard's Watchdog." Solomon had altered the spell so the phantom guard dog wouldn't bark—his building didn't allow pets, and barking would've caused trouble. Instead, the spell now had defensive instincts, silently subduing intruders.
The android took over from Solomon, efficiently securing the two men to chairs and confiscating their weapons and communication devices. Solomon sat across from them, holding up two small earpieces.
"I know you, Agent Grant Ward of Coulson's team. But you don't know me, thanks to a little enchantment I've been practicing. And you, handsome stranger—who are you, and why are you here?"
"You're in danger, Solomon Damonet," Reese said, his voice steady despite his disheveled state. "I don't know what's threatening your life, but you're in grave danger!"
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