Claire's footsteps echoed through the damp alley, the wet gravel crunching under her boots. Behind her, the fog danced as if trying to erase her tracks. Montmartre, even at this hour of the night, seemed to breathe — a living creature made of shadows and secrets.
She could still feel the cold touch of Armand's fingers on her skin, not in the physical sense, but something deeper. Ever since he had revealed the existence of the Brotherhood of the Veil, everything had taken on a more nebulous shape.
Turning the corner onto Rue des Trois Frères, Claire spotted the old tobacco shop. It was closed, as always. But she knew: behind the shelf of French cigarettes and faded stationery, there was an entrance to the Brotherhood's underground sanctuary.
She knocked three times, waited, then two more. Silence.
Then, the iron peephole creaked open, revealing gray eyes.
— "You shouldn't have come back," said a raspy voice.
— "And you should've listened when I told you he was alive."
The lock turned. The door opened to reveal Solène, now with wine-dark dyed hair and the look of someone who's buried too many hopes.
— "So it's true… you saw Armand?"
Claire nodded.
— "And he knows about the Key."
Solène turned pale.
— "Mon Dieu… then we're out of time."