Chapter 6: Whispers of the Night

The Langlois house was bathed in a soft twilight, only disturbed by the flickering light of the television that Paul had left on at a low volume. Victor still felt the warmth of Élise against him, her arm holding him with a mechanical tenderness as she gently rocked him. The scent of cheap soap and the residual smell of vegetable soup lingered around her, a blend that, despite its prosaic nature, evoked a sense of security that Victor couldn't help but recognize. Paul, leaning against his wife's shoulder, seemed almost asleep, his glasses dangerously slipping down his nose.

"We should put him to bed," Élise whispered, her voice low so as not to break the tranquility of the moment.

Paul nodded, straightening up with a tired grunt. He stretched his arms to take Victor, his rough hands contrasting with the gentleness of the gesture. Victor allowed himself to be moved, his small limbs limp and obedient. He felt the coarse texture of his father's work coveralls, still carrying a faint smell of motor oil, and observed his face up close. The wrinkles around his eyes were more noticeable in the dim light, furrows carved by years of labor at the garage.

"Come on, champ, to bed," Paul said with a tired smile, carrying him to the folding bed in the corner of the living room.

Victor was carefully laid on the thin mattress, the yellow wool blanket pulled up to his chin. Élise approached to adjust a corner, her fingers brushing his forehead in a near-ritualistic gesture.

"Good night, my treasure," she whispered before straightening up.

Paul turned off the television with a sharp click, plunging the room into a deeper silence. The couple exchanged a glance, a mixture of complicity and exhaustion, before disappearing down the hallway to their bedroom. Victor heard the creaking of the floorboards under their footsteps, followed by the soft cracking of their bed. Some indistinct murmurs still escaped—perhaps they were talking about the day or about Colette—before everything went quiet.

He was alone now, facing the night. The ticking of the wall clock resumed its role as the keeper of time, each second resonating like an echo of his impatience. Victor fixed his eyes on the shadows on the ceiling, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness. Outside, the wind had calmed, giving way to an almost supernatural stillness, only disturbed by the occasional passing of a car on the road.

He wasn't asleep. His body, that tiny traitor, demanded rest, but his mind refused to yield. He had spent the day observing—Élise with her unshakable gentleness, Paul with his gruff simplicity, Colette with her sharp personality. For now, he could do nothing but wait, a prisoner of this fragile envelope that limited him at every moment.

He thought of his parents, asleep in the next room. What were they dreaming for him? Did Paul imagine a son who would one day take over the garage, a stable job for a life without ripples? Did Élise see something greater, a boy who would leave their small suburb to make a mark elsewhere? They had no idea of what he carried within him: the memories of an entire life, the codes of revolutionary artificial intelligences, the financial strategies that had earned him a fortune before losing it all. This ignorance was both a weakness and a strength—they would never suspect it, but they also couldn't anticipate his needs.

A soft noise pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head, an awkward movement, and saw a silhouette in the doorway. Élise had returned, barefoot, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She approached without a word, her face barely visible in the dark, and leaned over the folding bed.

"You're still not sleeping, huh?" she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Victor stared at her, motionless. She reached out a hand to gently stroke his cheek, her cool fingers against his warm skin. There was tenderness in the gesture, but also a hint of concern in her eyes. She stayed there for a moment, looking at him as if searching for something—a response, a sign. Victor wondered if she sensed, even unconsciously, that he wasn't like other babies. Maybe his silence, his too-fixed gaze, betrayed something.

"You need to sleep, my little one," she whispered finally. "The days pass quickly, you'll see."

She straightened up and left as quietly as she had come, her footsteps fading down the hallway. Victor was alone again, his heart beating a little faster. Élise was attentive, more so than he had expected. He would have to be careful with her, hiding his thoughts behind a facade of infant innocence when the time came to speak or act.

He closed his eyes, not to give in to sleep, but to visualize what awaited him. The days ahead would be a slow procession of routines—bottles, lullabies, occasional visits from Colette or other family members. But every moment was an opportunity to learn, to adapt. He thought of his first life, those moments when he had stumbled due to lack of preparation. This time, he would be ready. He knew the key dates—the 2008 crisis, the rise of cryptocurrencies, technological upheavals. He would only have to reach out at the right moment.

A shiver ran through him, not from cold, but from excitement. This folding bed, this modest house, this simple family—it was all just a springboard. He would build an empire, step by step, and no one would be able to stop him. Not the investors who had betrayed him, not the competitors who had stolen his ideas, not even time itself.

Outside, a dog barked in the distance, a brief sound that faded into the night. Victor took a deep breath, smelling the wool and the aged wood around him. The day had been long, seemingly mundane, but it marked another step in his plan. He just had to wait, grow, and strike when the time was right.

Sleep finally overtook him against his will, his body prevailing over his mind. But even in this state, his dreams were clear, filled with lines of code, stock charts, and a future he would shape with his own hands.