Paris – Café Les Ombres – 6:01 AM
The morning mist was beginning to fade beneath the gray light, but the tension on the terrace was thick—like the scent of gunpowder before the spark.
Kurt Reiner, wrapped in a dark overcoat and flanked by two civilian agents, spoke with a British diplomat whose eyes were tense and hands damp with nerves. Between them, the café's silver table sat too perfectly arranged to feel casual.
Émile watched from a distance, binoculars hidden beneath his coat. Claire stood beside him, pistol disguised in a camera case. Solène, farther away, posed as a waitress, but her eyes never left the scene.
— "Any sign?" Claire whispered.
— "Not yet," Émile replied.
But he felt it. The air had the weight of an ambush.
---
On the rooftop of the building across the street
The shooter was patient.
Plain clothes. Silencer attached. Trained eye. The target wasn't Reiner directly — it was the diplomat. One shot, and the blame would fall on Germany. The domino effect: treaties broken, public outrage, crisis.
The war would begin not with a death — but with a symbol.
—
6:03 AM
Émile saw the glint.
— "There!"
Claire moved first. Drew her weapon. Ran.
The first shot didn't come from the café.
It came from the sky.
And missed.
By a centimeter.
Reiner turned his head. The diplomat fell to his knees.
And then—chaos.
Screams. Chairs overturned. Solène shouting for everyone to get down. Émile already racing up the stairs of the neighboring building. Claire right behind him.
But the shooter wasn't running.
He was waiting.
And beside him...
An old radio.
And a voice saying:
— "Failure is part of the plan."