Chapter 5: Shadows of the Evening

Dusk was falling over the Langlois' small house, tinting the living room with an orange light that filtered through the yellowed curtains. Victor rested in Élise's arms, his tiny body rocked by the gentle, instinctive swaying of his mother. Colette's Citroën had disappeared about ten minutes ago, leaving behind a silence that was only disturbed by the distant song of a blackbird. Élise closed the front door with a sigh, her dragging footsteps revealing a fatigue she no longer tried to hide.

— What a day, she murmured as she laid Victor down in his folding bed.

She paused for a moment to watch him, her hazel eyes softly gleaming in the growing twilight. Victor gazed back at her, motionless, his piercing look contrasting with the innocence expected from an infant.

— You're a funny little guy, she said before moving toward the kitchen.

Victor listened to the sound of her footsteps fading away, followed by the familiar clinking of pots and pans. She was preparing dinner, probably something simple – a soup or a pasta dish, given their modest means. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to think. Colette's visit had been a distraction, a glimpse of the outside world he would soon have to face. But for now, he was still trapped in this house, in this body, in this exasperating slowness.

The rumble of a familiar engine broke his thoughts. Victor opened his eyes again, turning his head toward the window with an effort that was becoming a little easier each day. Paul's Peugeot 206 stopped in front of the house with a tired sputter. The door slammed, and soon, the stocky figure of his father appeared in the doorway. Paul wore his grease-stained work overalls, his glasses fogged by the evening chill. He held a brown paper bag in one hand – probably bread or a dessert bought on the way home.

— I'm back, he called out, taking off his shoes near the entrance.

Élise emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a checkered dish towel.

— Just in time, she replied with a smile. The soup's almost ready.

Paul nodded, placing the bag on the round table before walking over to the folding bed. He leaned over Victor, adjusting his glasses, which were still sliding down his nose. A smell of motor oil and sweat lingered around him, mingled with the scent of soap he used to wash his hands at the garage.

— So, champ, how was your day? he asked, his voice tinged with a tender awkwardness.

Victor didn't answer – he couldn't, of course – but he held his father's gaze. Paul had dark eyes, tired from hours bent over engines, but there was a glint of pride in his expression. Victor wondered what his father saw in him at that moment. A son to raise? An additional responsibility? Or perhaps a vague hope, a dream he dared not voice?

— He was good, Élise chimed in from the kitchen. And Colette came. She knitted him a huge red scarf. You should see it, it's like a rug!

Paul chuckled, a raspy sound betraying his amusement.

— She's always had a knack for making cumbersome things.

He gently patted Victor's head, his calloused fingers brushing the blanket, then straightened up to join Élise. Victor watched them move away, listening to the murmur of their conversation. Paul talked about the garage – an unhappy customer who complained about a bill, a coworker who had improperly screwed in a part – while Élise nodded, adding "oh" and "really?" to punctuate the story.

Dinner was served shortly after. Élise brought over a bowl of vegetable soup, the warm and comforting smell filling the living room. Paul sat at the table, unwrapping a piece of bread he had taken from the bag – a baguette still warm, judging by the steam that escaped as he broke it. Victor, still in his folding bed, watched the scene from his corner. They had brought the table closer so he would be near them, a gesture that seemed as much practical as sentimental.

— Do you think he can smell the soup? Paul asked, dipping his bread into the broth.

— Maybe, Élise replied with a smile. But he's still too little to eat it. Soon, right, my treasure?

Victor held back a mental sigh. The soup looked bland, but he knew he'd have to get used to this frugal diet. In his past life, he had tasted sophisticated dishes – sushi in Tokyo, grilled steaks in New York – thanks to the fortune he had amassed through his technologies. Here, he was reduced to powdered milk and waiting for his palate to develop.

The parents ate in silence for a while, the sound of spoons against bowls punctuating their occasional exchanges. Élise recounted Colette's visit with more details – her remarks about the neighborhood, her suspicion of mobile phones – and Paul nodded, laughing softly at the mention of the red scarf.

— She'll never change, he said, shaking his head. Always knitting as if we lived in the last century.

— It's her way of showing she cares for us, Élise replied. And besides, it makes memories for Victor.

Victor noted this last phrase. Memories. Yes, he already had too many of them, memories of a life he had left behind in 2050. But this time, he would build something different, something bigger. That red scarf, however ridiculous it seemed, was a symbol – a connection to this family who, unknowingly, would help him reach his ambitions.

The evening stretched into a quiet routine. After dinner, Paul turned on the TV, keeping the volume low so as not to disturb Victor. A news program was broadcasting blurry images of airplanes and burning towers – the September 11 attacks, still fresh in people's minds. Victor listened distractedly, his mind already turned to the repercussions he knew were coming: the economic crisis, the wars, the upheavals that would open up opportunities for someone like him.

Élise washed the dishes while Paul flipped through a car magazine, his glasses still slipping down his nose. Victor watched them from his bed, analyzing their simplicity. They were good, hardworking, full of heart. But they didn't see beyond their little life – Paul repairing engines, Élise counting bills at the supermarket. He, however, saw empires, technologies, fortunes he would shape with his knowledge.

As the night settled in, Élise took him in her arms to rock him. She smelled of soap and soup, a grounded scent that contrasted with his grand dreams. Paul approached, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder.

— We have a beautiful family, don't we? he whispered.

— The most beautiful, Élise replied with a smile.

Victor closed his eyes, letting their warmth envelop him. He didn't really share their sentimentality, not truly. But he knew they were his starting point, the first pieces of a chessboard he would manipulate carefully. The day was coming to an end, and he was ready to wait for the next one.