The Orsini port was not supposed to enter the story this soon. That was what Livia said. That was what Maelys agreed with, for once, with worrying force. That was what Eden thought so loudly he did not even need to say it. Selene listened to all of them. Then she placed the photograph of the fig tree, Claire's letter, the crash photograph, and the Lily page on the table in the Berries salon.
— My mother tried to get out through a refuge. My father sold an entrance. Noe remembers the port. Irina died after helping Claire. The Lily erased the accident. So if we wait, someone moves the evidence again. Maelys folded her arms.
— I love when you present a terrible idea with flawless logic. It is extremely annoying. Livia looked at Eden.
— Going to the port without full preparation is risky.
— I know, he replied.
— You are still going to say yes.
— Probably.
— Poor management.
— Yes. Selene watched the exchange. She was beginning to like Livia. Livia, for her part, seemed to have chosen not to like many people as a matter of efficiency. Noe sat farther away, his hands clenched between his knees. He had spoken about the port, then closed in on himself like a door slammed too fast. Selene did not rush him. Not this time. He had already given them one piece of the puzzle, and he looked as if he had lost blood doing it. Eden took the port map they had found behind the white door.
— The Orsini control several zones. Officially, logistics, imports, storage. Unofficially, everything that moves through when the paperwork needs to look away. Maelys raised a hand.
— Naive question: why do all the rich families around you have "unofficial" activities? Have you tried yoga?
— It pays less, Eden said.
— I hate him when he is funny. Selene pointed to a red mark on the map.
— There. Adrien circled that warehouse. Eden looked. His face changed.
— That is not an Orsini warehouse.
— What is it?
— An old Veyr depot. Handed over after Irina's fire. The room tightened. Irina always returned when a door became too white.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The message arrived on Selene's phone while Livia was organizing the exit. Unknown number. One sentence. The port likes girls who think they are following their mothers. Then a photo. A dock. A dark container. A white mark barely visible on the metal: a lily. Maelys read over her shoulder.
— No. No no no. I refuse the narrative container. Eden took the phone only after Selene handed it to him. Good point. He zoomed in on the photo.
— This dock has been closed for three years. Livia answered:
— Officially.
— Orsini? Selene asked.
— Or someone wants us to think so. Noe lifted his head.
— It is not the same place. Everyone turned toward him. He was looking at the photo with difficulty.
— The dock where Dad used to go... there was a sound. Like a bell, but deeper. And a rotten fish smell. This is too clean. Eden studied the photo again.
— He is right. It is an inner dock. Too clean for the old basin. Maelys murmured:
— Useful Noe, pilot episode. Noe gave a nervous laugh.
— Thanks, I think. Selene moved closer to him.
— You do not have to come. He looked at her.
— I know.
— Really? He hesitated.
— No. She crouched in front of him.
— Then I am telling you clearly. You do not have to fix Dad. You do not have to fix Mom. You do not have to fix what you forgot. If you come, it is because you choose to be useful now, not because you have to pay for before. Noe lowered his eyes. His throat moved.
— I am coming.
— Why?
— Because I know the rhythm. And because if I stay here, I will imagine worse than whatever we find. Maelys sighed.
— Questionable reasoning, but extremely human. Eden said:
— Then you stay near Livia. Noe opened his mouth. Livia cut him off:
— That was not a suggestion. He closed his mouth.
The drive to the port took two cars. Selene with Eden and Livia. Noe with Maelys behind them, which was probably more dangerous for his self-esteem than for his life. The rain made the city lights blur. Gas station neon, red lights, closed storefronts: everything warped across the windows as if the night refused to keep a stable shape. Selene kept Claire's letter folded in her pocket. She could feel it against her thigh. A presence. Not a talisman. A charge. Eden was silent. He had that face she was beginning to recognize: the face of a man already organizing every way the situation could go wrong, and preparing to blame himself for the ones he had not imagined.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— Stop, she said. He turned his head.
— What?
— Carrying the accident before it happens. In the front, Livia almost breathed a laugh. Eden did not look away from Selene.
— You do the same thing.
— Yes. But I do it with more style.
— Debatable.
— You can find me a bad grade later. A silence. Then he said:
— If my mother had a part in Claire's death...
— Then it will be her fault.
— She is my mother.
— And Claire was mine. The sentence came out harder than she had meant it to. She did not apologize. Neither did Eden. He took it as he had to. Then Selene went on, less coldly:
— I do not promise I will be fair right away if we find something tonight.
— I am not asking you for that.
— Good.
— I am only asking you not to let me turn my guilt into a tactical decision. She looked at him. There. A useful request. Terrible. But useful.
— All right.
— Do you promise?
— No. I will try. It is less pretty, but truer. He nodded.
— I accept. The car turned toward the docks.
The smell changed. Salt. Diesel. Metal. And something older. A story that had waited under the rain. The first dock was empty. Too empty. Livia said it before Selene did.
— Staging. They stayed in the shadow of an administrative building. Opposite them, the container from the photo stood exactly there, under a white floodlight. The lily mark visible on its side. No guard. No obvious camera. No movement.
— They want us to approach, Eden said.
— Thank you, Captain Obvious, Maelys murmured in the earpiece.
— Maelys, clean channel, Livia said.
— My sarcasm is clean. Selene looked at the container. Her body wanted to move forward. Not from courage. From that horrible attraction of things that might have an answer inside. Noe, from the second car, said:
— It is not the right sound. Livia asked:
— What sound?
— The deep bell is missing. Eden closed his eyes for a second, as if searching through his knowledge of the port.
— Old fog buoy. Outer basin.
— Where? Selene asked. Livia pulled up the map.
— Eight hundred meters. Less clean zone. Harder to surveil. More Orsini.
— So this one is a decoy.
— Probably. Selene looked at the container marked with the Lily. A decoy can still contain a truth. She hated learning sentences like that. Eden seemed to follow her thought.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— We do not open it right away.
— I know.
— You know, or you accept? She shot him a glare.
— I know loudly.
— That does not exist.
— It does now. Livia gave the orders. Two men stayed behind to watch the decoy container. The rest moved toward the outer basin on foot, through the side passages. No headlights. No large movement.
Selene walked between Eden and Livia. Not behind. Not ahead. She noticed Eden was not trying to overtake her. Even here. Even in the rain. On the left. The word did not exist between them yet. But the place was beginning to.
The outer basin stank. Noe had been right. Fish, diesel, dead algae, rust, rain on dirty concrete. Nothing like the clean dock in the photo. Here, the port was not trying to look legal. It was only trying not to be looked at for too long. The fog buoy groaned in the distance. Deep. Slow. Like an animal under the water. Noe went ashen.
— This is it. Selene placed a hand on his arm.
— You can leave.
— No.
— Noe.
— No. I am shaking, but I am staying. Maelys, softer than usual, said in the earpiece:
— Good. Shaking is allowed. Playing hero is not. He nodded. Eden pointed to a low warehouse, half closed.
— Veyr depot. Livia checked the access points.
— Movement inside. Three people minimum. Maybe more. No sign of the clean container. Selene felt Claire's letter against her thigh. Irina. Adrien. Claire. Orsini. White Hand. Everything converged toward a warehouse that smelled of metal and forgetting.
— How do we get in? Maelys asked. Noe looked at a rusted side door. His face changed.
— There.
— You recognize it?
— Not the door. The wall. He moved closer, despite Livia's hand ready to hold him back. On the wall, under the rust, almost erased: three dots, pause, one dot. Not the same rhythm. A variation. Noe placed his fingers on the sheet metal. Tap. Pause. Tap tap. Pause. Tap. Nothing. Then, on the other side, a lock sounded.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The door opened a crack. No one had opened it from inside. Or someone knew they would come. Both possibilities were bad. Eden raised his gun. So did Livia. Selene breathed in. Then entered.
The warehouse was almost empty. Almost. A few pallets, tarps, hanging chains, a glass office at the back, an old smell of freight and salt. In the center, a folding table. On the table: a glass of water, a red rose, and a tape recorder. Maelys murmured in the earpiece:
— I officially propose banning objects placed on tables. Selene moved closer. Eden stayed on her left, weapon low but ready. Livia inspected the angles. Noe kept his eyes fixed on the tape recorder as if it might bite. Selene pressed play.
A woman's voice. Not Claire. Not Althea. Younger. Rougher. Irina. Eden froze.
— If you are here, the voice said, it means Adrien did not fail at everything. Which would be objectively surprising. Maelys murmured:
— I really like Irina. The voice continued:
— Claire, if you hear this, run. If it is Selene, I am sorry. Adults have a very cowardly way of turning children into locks. If it is Eden... Silence on the tape. Then, lower:
— If it is Eden, do not break everything right away. I know you will want to. Breathe. It will make you look less stupid in front of the dead. Eden lowered his head. Selene felt something crack inside him without making a sound. Irina continued:
— The White Hand needs three things: a fault, a fragile witness, and a report. Claire has the fault. Adrien is the fragile witness. Marius Lenoir will make the report if no one stops him. Marius Lenoir. The name finally entered the room. Selene looked at Eden.
— The doctor. He nodded. The tape crackled.
— The port is not the vault. It is the passage. The Orsini know. Dante especially. Do not trust him. But listen to him if he owes you something. That is the only language he respects. Click. End.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The glass office exploded one second later. Not completely. A bullet crossed the pane and struck the wall behind them.
Eden shoved Selene to the floor. Hard. Too fast to ask. But not too long. He released her as soon as she was behind cover, behind a pallet.
— Retroactive permission? he said, breath short.
— Granted, she answered through her teeth. With a bad grade for delicacy. Livia was already firing toward the mezzanine. Maelys was shouting in the earpiece about "why ports always have shitty mezzanines." Noe was on the floor, hands over his head, shaking violently. Selene crawled to him.
— Look at me.
— I cannot.
— Then listen. You breathe. You do not move. You do not get up to be useful. Understood? He nodded. A second shot. Then a cry. Livia had hit someone. Eden moved left, using the pallets to cover Selene without placing himself in front of her. Even in the chaos, he was trying to learn a new geography. The main door of the warehouse opened. Three men entered. Not Veyr. Not White Hand. Dark suits beneath raincoats, weapons held low, calm almost insulting. In the center stood a man with black hair and a face carved out of tired irony.
— Eden Veyr, he said. Always turning family debts into badly lit shootouts. Eden did not lower his weapon.
— Dante Orsini. Selene understood. Here was the port. Here was the language of debts. Dante looked at Selene.
— And you must be Claire's daughter. She was still on the floor behind a pallet, which was not the most majestic posture for a revelation.
— Bad entrance, she said. Dante smiled.
— Honest entrances are rarely available in this city.
Dante Orsini did not shoot. Neither did his men. Which did not make him reassuring. Dangerous people who choose not to shoot are often looking for something more precise than your death. Eden slowly straightened. Selene did too, despite the furious look he gave her when she refused to stay crouched.
— Irina says you know, Selene said. Dante raised an eyebrow.
— Irina said many things.
— So do the dead, apparently. His smile faded a little. Point for her.
— Claire came here, Selene continued. Adrien too. Marius Lenoir made the report. You know the passage. Dante looked at the tape recorder.
— You found the tape.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `— Did you leave it?
— No. Irina left it. I stopped it from being destroyed. Important nuance for my future reputation. Maelys murmured in the earpiece:
— I hate when mafia men have comebacks. Eden said:
— What do you want? Dante slid an envelope onto the table.
— To settle an old debt with a dead woman who irritated me greatly while she was alive.
— Irina?
— Claire. Selene stepped forward. Livia made a movement to stop her. She kept going anyway, but slowly. She took the envelope. Inside: an enlarged photo of a gray vehicle, taken from a harbor camera. At the wheel: a man. Light suit. Gray hair. Marius Lenoir. Behind him, in the passenger seat, a white silhouette. Not clear. Feminine. Dante said:
— The doctor was driving the car that closed the road on Claire Moreau. But he was not the only hand in the vehicle. Selene felt the world turn cold.
— Who? Dante looked at Eden. Then at her.
— Now that is a question worth more than a shootout in my warehouse. Eden tightened his grip on his gun. Selene placed a hand on his arm. Not to calm him. To feel whether he was about to become a tactical decision.
— How much? she asked Dante. He smiled slowly.
— Not money. An invitation.
— To what?
— The Orsini port, tomorrow night. The real entrance. Not the one the Veyr think they own. Selene looked at the envelope. Then Eden. Then Noe, still pale but standing. Then the rain behind Dante. The chapter had just changed scale. Dante added:
— And bring your brother. Doors that open to the rhythm of children have always struck me as useful bad taste.
Selene clenched the photograph of Marius Lenoir. The name beneath the ashes had just gained a face. And the port, a second night.
` }, { kind: "endcard", ch: { n: 6, name: "The Name Beneath the Ashes" } }, ]; window.CH6_PAGES = CH6_PAGES;