The early morning sunlight filtered through the thin clouds, casting a gentle glow over the old wooden house on the outskirts of Los Angeles, which stood quietly as if forgotten by the city. Bruce drove his SUV along the winding road, arriving at this safe house he had long since forgotten—one of the inheritances left to him by his uncle. In Los Angeles, he had seven or eight such places, scattered across the city and its outskirts. On the surface, they were unremarkable, but each had its own hidden purpose.
However, Bruce was not one to waste his energy on maintaining such complex arrangements. Aside from one with a special purpose, the rest of the safe houses were merely temporary storage for “sensitive items.” His logic was simple: true safety comes from disguise, not quantity.
This t
