Le Perchoir rooftop overlooked Paris.
The Sacré-Cœur glowed faintly in the distance, drowning in the orange haze of sunset.
Perfume. Smoke. Laughter.
Everything felt… light.
"To freedom!" Lynn shouted, raising her glass.
Glasses clinked.
For a moment—
Peace.
Yvan leaned back into the couch, listening to Michou talk about art school, her voice alive, passionate.
Mélo laughed loudly beside him, throwing jokes at Jecolia one after another.
Perfect.
Normal.
Fake.
"And you, Yvan?" Michou asked suddenly, her fingers resting lightly on his arm.
"What are you doing this summer?"
Her touch lingered.
For a split second—
A gym bag.
Three million euros.
A man with dead eyes.
Then it was gone.
"I'll probably work a bit," Yvan said with a soft smile.
"My uncle needs help with some logistics. Nothing crazy."
Mélo nearly choked.
Logistics.
Of course.
Michou pouted slightly.
"You're always so serious… relax. We graduated."
Across the table—
Jecolia was staring at Mélo.
Not casually.
Studying him.
"Hey… Mélo?" she leaned closer.
"There's something on your collar."
His heart skipped.
He glanced at the mirror behind the bar.
A dark stain.
Grease.
Belleville.
"Oh—this?" he laughed awkwardly, rubbing it.
"I tried fixing my bike chain earlier. Bad idea."
Lynn frowned.
"A bike? Don't you live like… two metro stops away?"
Silence.
A fraction of a second.
Too long.
"Exercise," Yvan cut in smoothly.
"He's training for the Tour de France now that metro prices are insane."
Laughter exploded.
Tension dissolved.
But not for them.
They both knew—
That was close.
Too close.
Time passed.
Music got louder.
Lights dimmer.
And cracks began to show.
Cheryle stood up.
No warning.
No explanation.
Just a glance—
At Yvan.
He followed.
At the bar.
"You're slipping," she said quietly, eyes on the menu.
Yvan froze.
"I don't know what you—"
"Mélo's shaking. You keep checking your watch," she cut him off.
Her tone was calm.
Too calm.
"Whatever you're doing…"
A pause.
"Make sure it never touches them."
Her eyes flicked toward the group.
"I like this. I won't let you ruin it."
Yvan stared at her.
This wasn't just intuition.
This was a warning.
Before he could respond—
She walked away.
Smile back on.
Like nothing happened.
Buzz.
Yvan's phone vibrated.
Encrypted app.
Unknown sender.
"Your client got stopped at the border."
"He thinks you sold him out."
"Disappear."
Everything went cold.
Across the room—
Mélo looked up.
Same expression.
Same message.
Different hell.
They didn't need words.
It was over.
Mélo stood abruptly.
"Sorry, I gotta go. Family emergency. My mom locked herself out again."
"Already?" Jecolia frowned.
"I'll go with him," Yvan added instantly.
"I parked near his place."
Too fast.
Too clean.
But no one questioned it.
They never did.
Elevator doors closed.
Silence.
The moment it clicked—
Yvan grabbed Mélo and slammed him against the wall.
"The watch client got caught," he said coldly.
"He thinks I set him up."
Mélo exhaled sharply.
"The Old Man sent me something too."
A pause.
"Location."
Yvan's jaw tightened.
"Saint-Denis."
Silence fell between them.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
"We go together?" Mélo asked.
Yvan loosened his tie.
Ripped it off.
"We don't have a choice."
The elevator slowed.
"If we don't fix this tonight…"
Ding.
Doors opened.
"...we're dead."
They stepped out into the Paris night.
Behind them—
Laughter. Music. Light.
In front of them—
Cold air. Sirens in the distance.
And something worse.
The truth was catching up.
And this time—
It wasn't going to stay hidden.