"We shall see, Capitaine."

Paris was still soaked in rain when the train stopped.

It was morning, the station emptier than usual, the rain dropping on the metal roof, making noise quietly in the deserted platforms.

Strange.

Étienne Moreau stepped down from the carriage, feeling the chill seep through his coat as his boots hit the wet pavement.

Behind him, Renaud stretched, yawning widely.

His uniform collar was damp from the journey, and he adjusted his cap, scanning the station lazily.

But if looked deeper one could see a sharp look disguised in that lazy body language.

Two black Citroën cars waited quietly near the end of the platform.

Beside each vehicle stood men in gray overcoats, stiff and expressionless, their uniforms stripped of insignia.

Moreau immediately felt the unease tightening in his chest.

Renaud leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper, "Well, this is warm."

Moreau said nothing, studying the men waiting for them.