Devon's escape from the hall had been a masterclass, the city's pulse throbbed around him: honking horns and distant sirens.
He arrived at the address he had seen on the file, his brows furrowed.
"Classic Shaves & Fades" in letters that had long since surrendered to rust. Devon paused at the threshold, confusion flickered across his chiseled features as he cross-checked the coordinates.
There was no mistake, this was indeed the spot. What kind of "meeting" hid behind a facade like this?
He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and pushed through the door with a soft chime of the bell.
The place looked like it had been forgotten for years. The linoleum floors were worn down, the mirrors cloudy with age, and the air smelled of old hair gel and cheap cigars. Empty barber chairs stood in a row, their cracked vinyl showing years of use. No customers were around.
