As Steve Pitcher stepped out of his car, the cool evening breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it a faint scent of anticipation. He adjusted his collar and glanced over his shoulder to see Modric and Nicholas Caleb men watching from their car across the street. They had been faithfully tailing him for the past three days, reporting every move he made to Caleb, their employer.
The mission was simple: track Steve's movements and inform Caleb of anything suspicious or potentially leading them to Belle. Their collective effort had yielded little results thus far. Steve's routine had become predictable—he stayed home until 7 pm and then headed to the bar where he would remain until dawn. The monotony of their surveillance had started to weigh on the two men, leaving them frustrated and yearning for progress.
"Another wasted day," Modric grumbled, his voice laced with annoyance.
