Lightning Cloud

The humid summer air of Dulles Airport hung heavy, but for Thiago Hernandez, it was the weight of a past life that truly pressed down. He moved with a quiet detachment, dark sunglasses shielding amber eyes that had seen too much. Dressed in a simple black polo and faded jeans, he looked like any other traveler, a businessman perhaps, or a tourist. Yet, the customs officer across the desk felt an unsettling chill. Thiago’s documents proclaimed him a former garage owner from Japan, a detail that didn't quite fit the man radiating an almost palpable indifference.

“What is the purpose of your trip here?” the officer asked, his voice strained.

Thiago offered a ghost of a cold smile. “A little bit of business and pleasure both, I think.” His accent was unidentifiable, a chameleon’s tongue. With a reluctant stamp, the officer waved him through, relieved to be rid of the unsettling enigma. Thiago was the United States’ problem now.

He had chosen Fairfax, Virginia, a quiet suburb with tree-lined streets, hoping it would be large enough to hide him, yet small enough to feel like home. His new house was comfortable, pre-stocked with essentials by an agent he’d never met. After depositing his bags, old instincts, sharper than any jet lag, compelled him to scout his new surroundings. He was examining a small path in the woods behind his house when a voice startled him.

“I’m sorry to have surprised you from behind,” a teenage girl with blonde hair and blue eyes said, her tone carrying a distinctly American lilt. “But you’re not from around here, and I just saw you coming out from no. 17, so... you’re my new neighbor?”