Michael gently released the curtain fabric, letting it fall and cover the living room window again. He took one last look at the chessboard with the finished game and at the folded guard uniform on the chair before heading to the bedroom.
The room was immersed in a welcoming darkness. Michael walked to the bedroom window, pulled the blackout curtain from end to end, blocking any trace of light coming from the street, and lay down on the bed. The firm mattress and clean sheets were the complete opposite of the uncomfortable bunk in the cell. He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, and within a few minutes let the accumulated exhaustion finally win, sinking into a deep sleep.
The awakening was abrupt, but silent. Michael opened his eyes and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand: 1:29 a.m. His body, trained to function with surgical precision, was fully alert. Feeling his throat dry, he got up from the bed and walked barefoot toward the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As he crossed the dark living room, something on the dining table caught his attention. The faint light coming through a gap revealed an object that definitely hadn't been there when he went to bed.
Michael approached the table. His expression remained perfectly neutral, his heartbeat controlled. He showed no surprise or hesitation. On the wood, right next to the chessboard, lay a small piece of paper folded meticulously into an origami shape.
He reached out, picked up the folded note, and undid it calmly. His eyes ran over the handwritten lines. The message said that the last two days had been extremely boring without him, and that whoever had written it was genuinely happy to see him free again. The next sentence read: _"The game can continue now"_. Right below, there was a detailed address, along with the explanation that at that location Michael would find a crucial clue to discover who had set him up to be arrested. The letter ended with an enigmatic farewell.
Michael read every word analytically, memorizing the address in seconds. Without changing a single feature on his face, he folded the paper exactly the same way it had been before and placed it back in the same spot on the table, as if nothing had happened.
He continued on to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of cold water, and took a long drink straight from the neck. Holding the bottle, Michael returned to the bedroom.
Instead of going back to bed, he placed the bottle on the floor and positioned himself in the open space next to the wardrobe. He pressed his palms against the cold floor and began an intense set of push-ups. His body moved in a steady, controlled rhythm, his muscles working in silence. Right after, he turned onto his back and started an exhausting sequence of sit-ups. The exercise was to burn off any trace of adrenaline the message might have triggered in his subconscious.
After a while, Michael stopped moving. He stood up, breathing a little heavier, and stopped in front of the mirror in the attached bathroom. He observed his own reflection in the dim light, analyzing the physical marks and the cold look he carried. There was no fear there, only calculation.
He picked up the water bottle from the floor, took a few more sips to rehydrate, and set it on the nightstand. Michael lay down on the bed again, covering himself up to his chest. Staring at the dark ceiling, he processed the address mentally and the fact that his apartment was no longer as safe as he'd thought. However, the priority now was rest. After a few minutes of silent reflection, he closed his eyes, controlled his breathing, and fell asleep again.