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This time, he didn't wait for coincidence.
He decided to create it.
Silence was no longer acceptable. He could no longer endure the daily repetition without an answer.
If she was hiding something, then cracks would have to appear in the wall of stillness.
He arrived an hour before her.
Chose a table near her usual one, but subtly — nothing that would draw attention.
His phone in hand, opened to a fake app, just a decoy interface.
She arrived.
Same calm, same steps, same organized posture, the cup, the folded page in the book.
But this time, he chose to break his rules:
He wouldn't just watch… he would interact.
After ten minutes, he stood and headed toward the counter.
Passed by her table, didn't stop, but his eyes caught something unexpected:
She was reading a book with no title.
A gray cover — clean, no author, no publisher.
Unusual.
He returned with a fresh cup, but his mind was elsewhere.
That evening, he used the café camera footage to capture a clear shot of the book's cover.
Uploaded it to the internal analysis system.
The result:
"Partial match. Limited edition from a literary collection — only 12 copies printed. Never released to the public."
Where did she get it from?
And who else owns a copy?
He re-examined the old data.
No purchase record, no public literary activity, no cultural club membership.
Doubt began to turn into certainty:
Ruba is not a coincidence.
The next day, he decided to follow her after she left.
She exited the café at the usual time.
Didn't look back.
Walked calmly through the old neighborhood streets, then entered a narrow alley leading to nothing obvious.
He hesitated.
Then followed.
Two minutes later, she reached an old iron door.
Unlocked it with a small key, stepped inside, and shut it behind her.
No sign. No indication of any known activity.
That night, he returned.
Inspected the door, the walls, the ceiling.
An old security camera — dust-covered.
But he found something he didn't expect.
Above the door, on the outer wall