Sunday afternoons in Paris had that strange feeling of an ending chapter.
The group had gathered at the Jardin des Tuileries, taking advantage of the open lawn to throw together a casual picnic. Lynn had brought drinks, Michou brought strawberries, and Jecolia had her speaker playing a soft melodic rap playlist in the background.
Yvan lay on the grass, hands behind his head, staring up at the clouds.
Beside him, Michou flipped through an exhibition catalog, her shoulder brushing against his from time to time.
Every touch sent a quiet shock through him — a mix of wanting to get closer… and the instinct to pull away.
— What are you thinking about? Michou asked without looking up from her book.
— Nothing much. Vacations. What we'll be doing in ten years.
— In ten years, you'll probably be some big logistics tycoon, she teased. Then her tone softened. Or maybe you'll finally learn how to relax. You know, Yvan… you don't have to be perfect around us. We don't care if you're tired or don't feel like smiling.
Yvan turned his head toward her. The sunlight played in her hair.
She was so sincere… it almost hurt.
— I'm not trying to be perfect, Michou. I'm just trying to… keep things in order.
— Order is boring, she murmured, finally meeting his eyes.
For a few seconds, everything else faded.
The noise, the music, the kids running around… gone.
Michou leaned in, just slightly.
The slow burn had reached its peak.
It only needed one move. Just one.
Suddenly, Yvan's phone vibrated in his pocket. Again.
He sat up abruptly, breaking the moment.
Michou let out a frustrated sigh she didn't even try to hide, snapping her catalog shut.
— Your uncle again? she muttered, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
Yvan didn't answer. He checked his screen.
A message from Mélo.
Mélo: "Look at 2 PM. Near the bronze statue. Guy in a gray tracksuit. He's been following us since the Tuileries. I think he's one of the Old Man's."
Yvan scanned the garden discreetly.
He saw him.
A built guy pretending to read a newspaper, but his eyes kept drifting back to their group.
The threat wasn't in Saint-Denis.
It was here.
Right in the middle of families and tourists.
— I need to make a call, Yvan said, standing up. I'll be back.
— Sure, Michou muttered, putting her sunglasses back on. "Logistics" comes first, I guess.
Yvan walked away, his chest heavy.
He joined Mélo near the fountain, pretending to talk about the playlist.
— He's not letting us go, Mélo whispered, forcing a laugh for the girls. If he's one of the Old Man's guys, he's checking our alibis. If we leave together now, it confirms everything.
— We stay, Yvan replied coldly. We stay until the end. We play high schoolers until he gets bored.
— And Cheryle? She's been staring at us. She spotted the guy.
Yvan glanced at her.
Cheryle sat slightly apart, biting into an apple, her gaze shifting between the gray-jacket man and the two of them.
That faint, knowing smile on her lips said everything:
I told you so.
The rest of the afternoon turned into psychological torture.
Yvan had to laugh at Lynn's jokes, eat strawberries with Michou… all while keeping an eye on the man who never moved.
Every time Michou tried to pick up their earlier conversation, Yvan answered with short, distant replies.
He was pushing her away. On purpose.
The more he cared about her…
the colder he had to become.
Because closeness meant danger.
And danger meant she could become a target.
As the sun began to set, the group finally split up.
— See you tomorrow for lunch? Jecolia asked Mélo.
— Not sure, Jeco… got stuff to sort out at home, Mélo lied.
She nodded, disappointed, and walked off with Lynn.
Michou stayed behind for a moment, facing Yvan.
— You know, Yvan… if you really want us to stay friends, you're going to have to stop disappearing while standing right in front of me. It's exhausting chasing someone who doesn't want to be caught.
She didn't wait for his answer and walked away.
Yvan stood there, silent, with Mélo on the gravel.
The man in gray stood up too, folding his newspaper.
— He's moving, Mélo said, clenching his fists.
— Let him, Yvan replied, his voice empty. We'll lead him straight to Lyam's HQ.
If the Old Man wants to play…
we'll show him we have friends far richer — and far more dangerous — than him.