Three years earlier
Nikolas pressed the button on the coffee machine. It gave one mighty hiss as it expelled steam and dripped dark amber liquid into his cup. Breathing the aroma deeply into every cell of his body, he removed the cup with one hand then slid aside the heavy glass door to the balcony with the other. He stepped out, as he did every morning. This was his favourite time of the day before most of Athens woke.
There were two cushioned wicker chairs on the balcony, but Nikolas always sat in the one furthest from the door. As he settled back into its comfort, he took in the view across the park from the vantage of the fifteenth floor. It was a view that he never tired of because the morning light was never the same. He knew that it was because its angle of refraction changed acco
