The new house in Los Angeles gave off a strange feeling. Thomas Blackwell, or "Tom" as he preferred to be called, looked at the modern and spacious building, with large glass walls and a meticulously manicured garden, as if it were all part of a scene designed for a Hollywood film. After years in the shadows and discretion of British agencies, this type of housing seemed surreal. Everything seemed too revealed, too exposed. But Tom knew that if he was there, it was for a reason.

At 45 years old, with a face marked by fine lines and the shrewd look of someone who had seen and done things that most would never imagine, he felt out of place in the sunny climate of Los Angeles. The city screamed intensity and life, while inside he carried a more restrained and mysterious tone. Tom had a dense past. 

Even before setting foot on American soil, he had already faced the underworld of terrorism as a member of the SAS, worked with MI5 in internal security and immersed himself in international operations with MI6. In the cold corridors of Buckingham Palace, he was known for his closeness to Queen Elizabeth II. A genuine and deep bond, built on countless missions and events on behalf of the British crown.

Standing at the entrance to the house, he looked at the neighborhood. A mansion next door caught his attention with its almost exuberant architecture. He vaguely remembered reading the name of his neighbor somewhere, Kim Kardashian. Although he didn't follow that world, it was practically impossible not to hear her name somewhere in the world.

Tom took a deep breath and entered. The space was well lit, with modern and minimalist furniture. The furniture reflected the idea of ​​a life he imagined for himself, but which still seemed far from reality. Taking off his jacket, he walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Suddenly, a knock on the door echoed through the house. He approached cautiously. Old reflexes surfaced. Despite being off active duty, training never left his body.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwell?" — a good-natured male voice came from outside.

When he opened it, he found a man in his 30s, with a friendly expression and a tablet in his hands.

— Yes, it's me. How can I help you? — Tom replied, keeping his voice firm but polite.

— I'm Alex, from the condominium. I came to welcome you and make sure everything is in order. We can make some adjustments if anything needs attention.

Tom gave a brief nod, nodding with a polite smile.

— The house looks perfect. The English are more… practical. Less glass, maybe — he said, with a slight touch of sarcasm.

Alex laughed, a little disconcerted.

— Oh, sure. But here in Los Angeles, transparency and exposure are almost requirements. Especially with a neighborhood like this — he nodded slightly in the direction of the house next door.

Tom raised an eyebrow, curious, but trying to hide his interest.

— Yes, I heard someone famous lives next door. I've never been one to follow the tabloids, but… should I be worried about noise? Or cameras?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

Alex shook his head quickly. "No, sir. She values ​​her privacy very much. Her house has heavy security and she's a private person, despite her fame. But you know how it is… famous people attract curious people. And photographers. There might be the occasional movement."

Tom nodded. "I see. We'll see how it goes."

After saying goodbye to Alex, Tom walked through the rest of the house, inspecting every nook and cranny. Even though he was no longer an active agent, the habit of checking entrances, exits and blind spots had never gone away. It was almost like breathing.

As night began to fall, he decided it was time to unpack some boxes and maybe open a bottle of wine. He was halfway through the process when his phone vibrated. The number was British.

"Tom here," he answered, his tone direct.

"Thomas, it's good to hear your voice. How are you settling into your new home?" — the voice of Julian, a former MI6 colleague, sounded on the other end of the line. Julian was one of those old friends, one of the few people Tom still kept in touch with after his departure.

"Settling in is a strong word. Let's just say I'm trying to figure out what to do with all this space and… transparency. Los Angeles is a different world."

Julian laughed.

"I can imagine. But if you need anything, you know I'm just a phone call away. And, Tom, I know you know all the protocols, but be careful out there. Los Angeles may seem sunny, but it's also full of shadows."

"I appreciate the advice, Julian. I'll try not to get involved in anything suspicious. Civilian life has its challenges, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's what I hope. And, oh, I hear you have an interesting neighborhood."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"It's gotten to you, hasn't it? Yes, I live next door to a Kardashian." I suppose my years of service are worth nothing compared to that fact.

Julian chuckled.

— Keep me updated, Blackwell. Good luck out there.

After hanging up, Tom finished his wine, feeling the weight of a new beginning. He knew the change wouldn't be easy, but he was willing to give it a chance.