Paris had never seemed so unforgiving. The team moved with urgency, shadows their only ally as they approached the nondescript building that housed Isabelle's most precious secrets.
Grant led the way, his steps measured but deliberate. Emily followed close behind, her nerves tightly coiled.
Damien, despite his composed exterior, seemed to be wrestling with old ghosts. Williams, always skeptical, brought up the rear, his hand resting on the pistol at his hip.
"Isabelle's vault is beneath this building," Damien whispered as they crouched behind a dumpster in the adjacent alley. "No signage, no visible defenses, but don't let that fool you. It's one of the most secure locations in the city."
Emily glanced up at the plain facade. "How do you know she hasn't changed the codes?"
"Because Isabelle is arrogant," Damien said flatly. "She believes no one is bold enough—or clever enough—to break in."
Grant smirked. "She hasn't met us."