In the days that followed, Don kept his mundane routine with the addition of studying intel whenever possible in Miss Claire's study.
The heavy desk became his temporary command center, laptop glowing softly under dim light while Miss Claire's curated files painted a picture of sun-drenched beaches masking deeper shadows.
He absorbed every detail—the island's layout, the target's routines, the submarine's specs—committing them to memory with the same focus he once reserved for combat drills.
He had brought up the idea of the trip to Brazil during breakfast, and it was quite well received, especially by Samantha who wanted nothing more than a break from the city.
The dining room smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries, sunlight streaming through tall windows to gild the polished table.
Samantha's eyes lit up at the mention of beaches and clear water. "A real vacation? Oh, Donnie, I've been dreaming of one since… well, everything."
