"I planned a reckoning."

The envelope was delivered by hand no seal, no markings.

General Delon read it twice.

The words weren't long, but the message was clear.

The plan had been nearly exposed.

Rivet had handled it, for now.

But that single moment of exposure changed everything.

Delon stood at the window of his Lyon office, staring out at the greying skyline.

He could feel it the time turning against them.

Every day they waited was a day more likely for someone to talk, for someone to notice the subtle shifts across the country.

The ghosts had begun to wake.

And France, old and tired, wasn't blind.

He turned sharply. "Get Beauchamp. Now."

Fifteen minutes later, General Beauchamp entered, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as he stepped in.

"I assume this isn't a social call," Beauchamp said, closing the door behind him.

Delon handed him the note. "Rivet killed a man last night."