Paris – November 11, 1937 – 3:00 AM
The window in Madeleine's sitting room shivered, though there was no wind.
She woke with a jolt, the cigarette fallen to the rug and the radio hissing on a strange frequency. The air smelled of burnt paper and dirty rain.
She knew what it meant.
— "The Veil broke somewhere."
She stood, crossing the room with steady steps. One of the old mirrors — a gift from a Russian dancer she had loved and betrayed in equal measure — was cracked straight down the center.
Madeleine touched the glass.
— "Claire… what have you done?"
Behind her, a man emerged from the shadows. Tall, dressed in a brown suit, severe face, hands too clean to be trusted.
— "I was expecting you," Madeleine said, without turning.
— "And I hoped you wouldn't know."
— "You're twenty years too late to underestimate me, Émile."
Émile stepped closer.
— "Reiner's alive. But someone wants that to change. Fast."
Madeleine lit a new cigarette with hands that had once held guns, men, and secrets.
— "And Claire?"
— "Facing something older than war."
— "Then the question isn't who dies. It's who keeps remembering."
Émile met her gaze.
— "Do you still have access to the Register?"
Madeleine smiled with her eyes.
— "I have access to everything. But some doors... demand a price."
— "How much?"
She looked back at the cracked mirror.
— "A memory you're not ready to lose yet."