Does this Prologue Hook You for a Spy Novel? Honest Feedback Needed!

Hi fellow writers (it cracks me up to even say that?! I’m really just a photographer):

I’ve been working on my first novel, Double Exposure, a spy thriller with a photography twist. The story has been bouncing around in my head for decades, and I finally decided to put it down on paper. It follows Reed Sawyer, a professional photographer who’s secretly a covert operative for a shadowy organization. A lot of readers on Wattpad have compared the tone to Tom Clancy or James Patterson, but I want to know if this prologue genuinely grabs attention—or if they’re just being nice!

The idea behind the prologue was to set the tone and raise questions about Reed’s dual life. It’s short, sharp, and sets the stage for the espionage theme while hinting at the unique way photography plays a role in the story.

Here’s the prologue:

Sneaking a prohibited item through airport security isn’t as hard as you’d think. It's not about gadgets or technological tricks. It's about defeating people—their instincts, their assumptions, their reliance on patterns. Security thrives on predictability. Break that rhythm, shift the focus, and you create your own loophole. Confidence is the key. No hesitation, no second glances. They don’t screen for contraband; they screen for fear. A confident man with a camera in his hand isn’t a threat—he’s a professional, a reporter, an artist. The world opens its doors to people like him. Smile at the agent, crack a casual joke. Let them see what they expect: another traveler trying to make it to their gate before the boarding call. But distraction—that’s where the magic happens. The glitzy advertisement cards lay scattered at the entrance of security: “FREE COFFEE AT GATE C13.” Simple, alluring. Who wouldn’t grab one? The promise of caffeine during a bleary-eyed morning rush. But no one considers the layers within that cardstock. No one thinks twice about the faint trace of lead embedded between its fibers—a subtle trick of the trade. When scanned, those cards cast the shadow of something ominous. Now, thirty passengers clutch identical cards. Some are tucked into carry-on bags, others slipped into purses, all funneled through the checkpoint at the same moment. The machine beeps incessantly, confusion spreads, and security scrambles to pinpoint the cause. It’s perfectly timed chaos—and perfectly harmless. At least for them. And while they’re untangling the mess, the real sleight of hand happens. A dismantled weapon hidden within the layers of a camera bag. Tripods, lenses, filters, cables—nothing unusual for a photographer. Not worth a second glance. Cameras are the ultimate cover. Expected. Familiar. Invisible. That’s the trick: disappear in plain sight. Don’t hide the act—hide the intention. It’s not about the tools; it’s about the illusion. And when executed perfectly, an illusion becomes indistinguishable from reality.