The gunshot shattered the silence. One single shot. Sharp. Close. The kind of sound that never really resembles the movies. Not wide, not glorious, not spectacular. In real life, a bullet cracks like an irreversible decision. It takes up all the space for one second, then leaves behind a void too large. Eden placed himself in front of Selene before she even understood that she had stepped back. Not against her. In front of her. Tiny difference. Enormous difference. The door to the black office stayed closed, but behind it, the corridor had changed nature. It was no longer a passage. It had become a threat with angles. Livia shut off the screen with one quick motion. The two reliable men, until proven otherwise, drew their weapons. Selene heard the discreet click of a magazine being checked, the scrape of a sole on the floor, Eden's breathing in the room. She should have been afraid. She was afraid. But another thought, colder, crossed in front of every other one. - Noe, she said. Eden did not turn his head. - He is on level minus two. Under guard. - That is not an answer to what I just asked. - I know. A second sound rang out in the corridor. Not a shot. A body hitting a wall. Then a muffled voice. Then nothing.
Selene felt her skin tighten over her bones. Eden lifted two fingers. Livia opened an audio channel on her earpiece. A man's voice crackled: - Intruder neutralized. One security man injured. He was wearing a white mask. White Hand. The name passed through the room without being spoken. Selene looked at Eden. - They are already inside Ashfall. - They have always had doors here. - And you are only realizing that now? The sentence was unfair. She knew it the instant she said it. Eden did not correct her. He opened the door. - Stay behind me. This time, she did not answer no. Not because she accepted the position. Because she wanted to see what he was trying to hide from her before choosing where to stand.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The corridor smelled of gunpowder. And blood. Selene had never understood before that night that blood had warmth in its scent. Something metallic, yes, but alive too, almost intimate. Proof that the body still insists after violence. One of Eden's men was leaning against the wall, a hand pressed to his shoulder. Livia immediately knelt beside him. Farther down, two guards were holding a man in a white mask to the floor. Or what remained of his consciousness. The mask had slipped crooked. A narrow mouth was visible, blood on the teeth, a freshly shaved chin. Not a soldier. Not a thug. A clean man. Too clean. Dark suit. Light shirt. Polished shoes. Clean monsters, Selene had said. She had not imagined how literal it would be. Eden crouched in front of him. - Who opened the door for you? The man smiled despite the blood. - You should lock the rooms where you hide dead girls better. Eden did not move. Selene felt the phrase plant itself beneath her skin. Dead girls. Irina. Her mother. Her. Maybe all of them. Eden took the white mask between two fingers and removed it completely. - Name. The man kept smiling. - You already know the names. That is why you are afraid. - I never ask a question twice because I lack imagination. Eden's voice was low. Not threatening in the usual sense. Worse. It was emptied of anything that might beg the other man to yield. Selene took one step. Eden did not look at her, but he knew she had moved. - Stay where you are. She obeyed. Not for him. For herself. She wanted to see what Eden became when he was not trying to show her only the controllable parts of his violence. The man spat blood on the floor. - Does she have the song? Selene went cold. So did Eden. The man laughed softly. - Of course she has it. Her father put it in her head like a prayer. Or like a bomb. Fathers like calling that love. Eden stood. A guard handed him the intruder's weapon in a plastic evidence bag. Then an object. A small gray notebook. Eden opened it. A single sentence on the first page. Room 7. No lock. She knows where to look. Selene felt the number catch in her throat. - Room seven? Eden closed the notebook. - No. - Eden. - No. - If it concerns me, you no longer have the right to say no. At last, he turned his face toward her. Something in him was resisting. Not her. Fear. - It concerns Irina. Then the sentence took on another color. Room 7. No lock. She knows where to look. Selene understood they had not merely been sent an intruder. They had been sent a direction. And maybe a trap. Both could be true. At Ashfall, they almost always were.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Room 7 was not in the guest wing. It was in the old part of Ashfall, the one the club did not show its clients and the staff spoke of like a sick organ that had been walled up without ever truly being removed. Eden wanted to go alone. Selene laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it had become punctuation between them. - No. - You are tired. - So are you. Yet you keep doing the man-in-black thing in the corridors. - This part of the building is not safe. - No part of this building is safe. At least this one has the honesty not to throw overpriced tablecloths over it. Livia, busy compressing the guard's wound, looked up at Eden. - She will go anyway. Eden shot her a look. Livia did not lower her eyes. Selene noted the information: Livia might be one of the few people capable of contradicting Eden without the room preparing to bury someone. They went down in an old elevator, narrower than the others. The walls were dark metal, scratched in places. Selene saw herself in the reflection: mask removed, lipstick nearly gone, black dress, tense shoulders, eyes too bright. She looked as if she were playing a role she had not had time to learn. Eden, beside her, held the gray notebook. - You are afraid to go back there, she said. - Yes. The direct answer still surprised her, even after everything. - Why? He watched the elevator numbers descend. - Because I spent fifteen years avoiding the rooms where Irina was still more alive than I was. The sentence cut off every desire to reply. Selene lowered her eyes to her hands. - My mother is everywhere too, sometimes. - Where? - In the rain. In the lily. In wet roads. In people who say accidents happen. The elevator vibrated. Eden turned his head slightly toward her. - They do not always happen. - No. - And when they do not happen, someone makes them. The door opened before she could answer.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The air in the corridor was different. Colder. Older. It smelled of damp stone, dust, wood sealed too long, and somewhere very far beneath it, fig. Selene stopped. - Do you smell that? - What? - Fig. Eden looked down the corridor. - Here? She nodded. - Faint. Old. But yes. Fig. Trapped refuge. Of course.
The corridor leading to Room 7 was narrower than the others. Not decorated. Not renovated. Here, Ashfall was no longer pretending anything. The walls still carried the marks of the old bank: number plates, armored doors, empty frames where security instructions might once have been posted. Room 7 was at the end. The door was pale wood. Not armored. Not metal. Almost ordinary. That was what made it unsettling. No lock. Only a round handle, dulled by time. Selene read the number fixed above it. 7. Eden did not touch the door. His hand hovered near the handle, motionless. - You never opened it again? she asked. - No. - In fifteen years? - Since the fire. The word changed the temperature of the corridor. Selene looked at the door. - Was it her bedroom? - No. A silence. - It was where she came when she did not want to be found. - Without a lock? - Irina used to say a locked door attracts people who like owning keys. A door without a lock gives the illusion that there is nothing to take. Selene felt the sentence enter her softly. A door without a lock. Like her own room. Like her false refuge. Like everything Eden tried to call safety without being able to remove the bars. - She was smart, Selene said. Eden lowered his eyes. - Smarter than me. - That is not difficult. The sentence came out automatically. A defense mechanism. But this time, Eden almost smiled. Almost. - No. He opened the door.
Room 7 did not look like a bedroom. Not really. It was a small room with walls covered in old wood paneling. A low divan occupied one corner. A round table. Two armchairs. Shelves. An old green banker’s lamp on a desk. No bed. And yet, the intimacy of the place was immediate. Not sexual. More dangerous. It was a room made for taking off a mask when no one had the right to see the face beneath it. On the table, someone had placed a candle. Fig. Unlit. Recent. Selene did not need to approach to know it. - Someone came here, she said. Eden looked at the candle. His face closed. - After the fire, this room was sealed. - By whom? - Me. - So someone broke your seal. - No. He moved to the doorframe. A thin black line was still visible there, almost intact. - It was opened with my authorization. Selene felt the trap tighten. - You did not give it. - No. - So someone can give your authorization in your place. Eden did not answer. That answer was terrifying enough without words.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Selene entered first. She did not know why. Maybe because Eden, for once, seemed unable to cross a threshold without permission. Maybe because she was tired of standing behind the traumatized men in her life while they decided what to do with their ghosts. The room smelled of fig. Not like the contract candle. This one was older, drier, with a note of paper, wood, and forgotten fruit. A summer fig tree locked inside a winter room. Selene followed the scent to the shelf. Behind a row of books, she found a VCR. - Eden. He finally came in. His gaze fell on the machine. Then on the tape placed in front of it. A white label. For my brother when he stops behaving like an armed idiot. Selene read the sentence. Then looked at Eden. - She sounds charming. Eden's mouth almost trembled. - She was. He did not move toward the tape. Selene understood. This was not evidence for him. It was a resurrection. And resurrections are violent when you have not had time to want the dead back. - I can put it in, she said. He closed his eyes. - Yes. She inserted the tape. The old screen in the corner turned on after three tries. Blue image. Snow. Static. Then Irina Veyr appeared. Young. Alive. Sitting on the exact divan behind them. Her blond hair was tied without care, she wore an oversized gray sweater and had shadows beneath her eyes. She did not look like a mafia heiress. She looked like a girl exhausted from understanding too soon that her family was a machine built to grind other people down. - Eden, she said on-screen, if you are watching this, it means you have finally stopped believing you are more useful angry than intelligent. Selene glanced at Eden. He was motionless. Devastated with elegance. Irina went on: - Do not make that face. Yes, I know exactly what face you are making. The one where you look like you want to kill a piece of furniture because it overheard your feelings. A breath left Eden. Not a laugh. Not yet. But something. Selene felt her own throat tighten. Irina lifted a candle toward the camera. Fig. - If you are in this room, then someone sent you here. Trust neither the person who gave you the trail nor the ease with which you wanted to follow it. Room 7 was my refuge because everyone believed it was useless. It is not. The image crackled. - The Moreaus are at the center. Not because they are innocent. Because they tried to get out of the system after serving it. Adrien created the codes, yes. But he also created their flaw. Selene moved closer to the screen. Her father. Again. Always caught between monster and shield. - Claire knows where the copies are, Irina continued. If she dies, I talk. If I die, she talks. If we both die... Irina looked straight into the camera. - Then the girl will sing. Selene felt the blood drain from her face. The song. Always the song.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Irina leaned toward the camera. - Selene Moreau is eight years old as I record this. If everything goes well, she will never need to know. If everything goes wrong, Eden, you will have to do what you know least how to do: protect someone without possessing her. Eden turned his face away. The sentence had touched him so precisely that Selene almost hurt for him. Almost. Irina smiled sadly. - Yes, I know. Terrifying. A woman who does not belong to you. Breathe, little brother. This time, Eden laughed. Very low. Broken. Selene looked at him. She should not have. That pain was not hers. But she saw it anyway: the teenager inside the man, the brother inside the criminal, the wound beneath the suit. Irina placed the Fig candle on the table. - Fig means trapped refuge, but Father always said a trap can be turned if you know where to place your foot. Room 7, third shelf, untitled book. Eden, do not let Valere open it. I am begging you. If Valere is still near you when you find this video, then you have already waited too long. The video cut out abruptly. Blue screen. Silence.
Selene and Eden stayed still. Then, together, they looked at the third shelf. An untitled book. Black binding. Eden took a step. Selene raised a hand. - Wait. He stopped. - She said this room was a trap you could turn. - Yes. - So maybe it is still a trap. Eden looked at her. - You are starting to think like us. - That should worry you. - It does. She approached the book but did not pull it. She felt around. Wood. Dust. Fig. And something else. A very thin thread of scent. - Berries, she murmured. - Entrance. - Or trigger. Eden passed a hand along the shelf without touching the book. - Old mechanism. - You know it? - This was a bank. Secondary vaults used hidden pressure systems. - So if we pull it wrong, what happens? - Alarm. Lockdown. Gas. Maybe nothing. - You are terrible at reassurance. - I know. Selene searched again. Then she understood. The untitled book was not the handle. It was the bait. The real mechanism was the Fig candle on the table. She returned to it. - Irina said she set the trap in the refuge. Not in the shelf. Eden followed. Selene lifted the candle. Under the base, five small circles had been engraved. Berries. Roses. Fig. Tuberose. Lily. A code. Of course. - She is still speaking through scents, Selene said. - Like your father. - No. She studied the circles. - Like someone who knew my father might betray words, but not smells.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Selene reconstructed the sequence. Not with certainty. With intuition. The room was Fig. The trail had been opened by Roses. The danger came from Berries. Irina had spoken of not letting the dead stay silent: Lily. But the room was a refuge, not a grave. She had to begin with Fig. Then Berries. Then Roses. Then Lily. And especially not Tuberose. Why? Because Tuberose, in this system, was not only desire. It was the room used to buy, compromise, blackmail. Irina had warned him clearly: do not let Valere open it. Valere was Tuberose. The transaction. The sexual trap. The clean smile in front of dirty doors. Selene pressed the circles. Fig. Berries. Roses. Lily. A click sounded. Then a second. The shelf unlocked.
Behind the untitled book, a compartment appeared. Inside: a tape, a photograph, a little green notebook, and a ring. Eden took the ring. His face changed. - Was it Irina's? Selene asked. - Yes. No more. He passed his thumb over the band as if he feared damaging it by breathing too close. Selene took the photograph. Irina and Claire. Again. But this time, there was a third person. Adrien Moreau. Selene's father. He was holding child-Selene in his arms. She must have been six or seven. She was laughing. Claire was looking at the camera. Irina was looking at Adrien, and in her gaze there was something Selene could not name right away. Trust. Maybe. Or a final warning. On the back, a few words: If he fails, do not punish the child for the father's cowardice. Selene felt her throat close. She had spent the last hours fearing her father was a monster. That sentence did not absolve him. It simply made the monster more human. Which was, in a way, much crueler. - Read the notebook, Eden said. She opened it. Irina's handwriting. Fast. Nervous. Valere knows the White Hand will not survive if the five codes are tied to the five deaths. He needs Eden at war with the Orsini to open the archives without looking at his own house. Althea is letting him do it because she still thinks she can recover the system after the fire. Adrien wants to run, but he is afraid for Claire and the children. He is guilty. He is also trapped. Both truths must stay together. Selene reread the last sentence. Both truths must stay together. She hated it. Because it was right.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The tape hidden in the compartment was not for Eden. The label said: For Claire. If I do not get out. Selene held it between her fingers. - It is for my mother. - Yes. - She never saw it. - No. The silence in the room grew heavy with a pain that no longer knew which family it belonged to. Selene would have liked not to watch it. But she already knew she was going to. There are truths you delay only to keep the illusion that you chose the moment. She inserted the tape. Irina appeared again. This time, she was crying. Not much. Not prettily. In films, people cry as if grief had been choreographed. Irina cried like someone trying to stop her body from betraying urgency. - Claire, she said. If you see this, it means I failed or you left before I did. I do not know which of those two ideas makes me want to vomit more. Selene felt Eden move slightly away. Not physically. Inside himself. As if he were giving Selene's mother the space she had never been allowed to receive. Irina continued: - Adrien created a counter-code. He did not give all of it to me. He divided it. One part in the archives. One part in Selene's song. One part in Noe, even though he is too young to understand. I know you will hate him for that. I do too. But he says adults can die; what they hide in their children cannot. Selene brought a hand to her mouth. Noe. So her brother was not only a manipulated idiot. He was carrying a part of the system too. Maybe without knowing it. Irina leaned toward the camera. - If Althea launches the Lily protocol, she will not aim only at the evidence. She will aim at memory. She will make Claire look like an unstable mother, Adrien like a broken husband, me like a hysterical heiress. She knows killing someone is easy. Soiling what they leave behind lasts longer. Selene felt cold rage fill her chest. Her mother. For fifteen years, she had heard soft sentences. She was fragile. She drove too fast. She had not been well for a while. Maybe she should have asked for help. And what if none of that had been clumsy grief? What if it had been the successful version of the Lily protocol? Erasing a woman after her death by making her fear ridiculous. The tape crackled. Irina whispered: - Claire, if you get out of there, take Selene and go to the fig tree. Adrien will know. And if you do not get out... She closed her eyes. - Then I hope our children forgive us for turning their childhood into a vault. The image cut out.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Selene stayed in front of the black screen. Something in her wanted to cry. Something older refused. She was tired of the dead asking her to understand. Tired of the living asking her to survive. Tired of being a key, a target, a song, a mistake that had breathed too long. She took the tape and threw it against the wall. Not hard enough to break it. Hard enough for the sound to exist.
- I am not a vault, she said. Her voice was trembling. She did not care. - I am not an archive. I am not proof with legs. I am not my father's plan B or your sister's last wish. Eden did not speak. Good choice. She turned toward him. - Did you know about Noe? - No. - What do you think he carries? - Maybe a word. A date. A sequence. Something he took for an ordinary memory. - Like me. - Yes. She gave a joyless laugh. - Wonderful. A whole family turned into a password. Eden picked up the tape gently. He did not put it back in the player. He set it on the table. - Irina did not want to use you. - She did it anyway. He absorbed that. - Yes. - My father too. - Yes. - My mother too, maybe. - Maybe. She stared at him. - And you? - Yes. Always that yes. Always that naked, unbearable truth that kept her rage from finding a clean wall. - I used you, Eden said. At first. - And now? It took him longer to answer. - Now I am trying to understand how not to anymore. The sentence was insufficient. It was also probably the best one he had. Selene passed a hand over her face. The fig scent in the room made her nauseous now. The false refuge. The trapped refuge. The room where the dead had left gifts that cut your hands. - I want to get out of here. - All right. She looked at him. - No argument? - No. - You learn fast. - With you, yes. She hated that the sentence did something to her. Even here. Even now.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `They did not return to the main room right away. Selene could not have endured it. Not the masks, not the roses, not the stares hungry for the fall of a woman they did not know. Eden led her toward the inner courtyard. The sky was still there. Gray, black, split by rain. She stepped outside without waiting for his permission. The cold air struck her face. She inhaled too quickly. Rain entered her mouth, landed on her skin, in her hair. She did not care.
Eden stayed beneath the awning. She turned back. - Are you afraid of water? - Useless pneumonia. - Very mafia. He stepped into the rain anyway. His suit absorbed the water immediately. His black hair clung to his forehead. He looked less untouchable. It was disturbing. Selene crossed her arms to hide that she was trembling. - I want to see Noe. - Now? - Now. - He is asleep. - Wake him. Eden did not answer immediately. - Are you sure this is the right moment? - No. She laughed, but the sound broke. - But apparently no one in this family waited for the right moment to hide things in my skull, so I will work with what I have. - All right. She looked at him. - Are you letting me decide because you think I will collapse if you resist? - No. - Then why? - Because you are right. The rain filled the silences between them. Selene suddenly felt the fatigue pass through her, immense, brutal. Her knees could have given out. They did not. Eden took one step. Stopped. - May I touch you? She closed her eyes. Absurd question. Necessary question. - To do what? - Keep you from falling if you fall. - And if I do not fall? - Nothing. She opened her eyes again. - You can stay close. Not hold me. - All right. He stayed close. Close enough for her to feel his warmth despite the rain. Not close enough to take her. Selene wanted to rest her forehead against him. She did not. That refusal was also a choice. And she needed to remember she still had some.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `When Selene came out, Eden said nothing. She appreciated it.
They went back up without speaking. This time, the silence was not organized. It was necessary. Selene carried too many things to add sentences on top. Her father, guilty and trapped. Her mother, soiled after death. Irina, who had predicted her brother's cowardice. Noe, bearer of a mirror version. Eden walking beside her like a danger trying to keep the right distance. When they reached her room, she stopped. The room without a lock. The false refuge. Except now she knew that the absence of a lock could be a strategy. A way to make people believe there was nothing to take. - Irina had a room without a lock, she said. - Yes. - You gave me the same thing. Eden understood what she was asking. - I did not think about it. - Really? - Really. She watched him for a long time. - That is almost worse. - I know. The door to her room was ajar. Selene went rigid. She was sure she had closed it. Eden moved in front of her immediately, weapon drawn. This time, she did not protest. He went in. Silence. Then: - No one. Selene entered after him. The room seemed intact. Unmade bed. Morning tray removed. Candle box on the table. But the Fig candle had been lit. A low, steady flame. And on the bathroom mirror, written in steam or with an invisible product revealed by heat: A refuge is useful only if she believes she is alone inside it. Selene felt the fatigue vanish. Not replaced by fear. By something harder. Eden checked the bathroom, the closets, the corners. - Get out. - No. - Selene. - No. She approached the mirror. The letters were already beginning to fade. She took a photo with her phone. - They want me to doubt every place where I can breathe. - Yes. - So I am not giving them that. She took the Fig candle. - Do you have another room? - Yes. - Give it to someone else. Eden stared at her. - You want to stay here? - Yes. - Someone came in. - Exactly. She set the candle on the table. - This room becomes useful if I know it is trapped. Like Irina's. Eden's expression changed. - You want to turn the trap. - I want to stop moving house inside other people's fear. He was silent. Then he nodded. - Very well. - But you are giving me an interior lock. - Yes. - And a camera in the corridor only. - Yes. - And I want to know who had access. - You will have it. She should have been satisfied. She was not. The Fig candle burned between them. Trapped refuge. But this time, Selene did not retreat. She blew out the flame herself.
In the sudden darkness of the room, Eden said: - You change quickly. Selene watched the thread of smoke rise. - No. She thought of her mother, of Irina, of Noe, of her father, of every door that had been opened inside her without permission. - I am coming back to myself. At the same moment, her phone vibrated. A message from Maelys. I just received a tape in front of my door. Your name is on it. And it smells like fig. Selene held the screen out to Eden. His face closed. The room was not the trap. It was the rehearsal. The real refuge to turn had just changed address.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `When Selene came out, Eden said nothing. She appreciated it.
They went back up without speaking. This time, the silence was not organized. It was necessary. Selene carried too many things to add sentences on top. Her father, guilty and trapped. Her mother, soiled after death. Irina, who had predicted her brother's cowardice. Noe, bearer of a mirror version. Eden walking beside her like a danger trying to keep the right distance. When they reached her room, she stopped. The room without a lock. The false refuge. Except now she knew that the absence of a lock could be a strategy. A way to make people believe there was nothing to take. - Irina had a room without a lock, she said. - Yes. - You gave me the same thing. Eden understood what she was asking. - I did not think about it. - Really? - Really. She watched him for a long time. - That is almost worse. - I know. The door to her room was ajar. Selene went rigid. She was sure she had closed it. Eden moved in front of her immediately, weapon drawn. This time, she did not protest. He went in. Silence. Then: - No one. Selene entered after him. The room seemed intact. Unmade bed. Morning tray removed. Candle box on the table. But the Fig candle had been lit. A low, steady flame. And on the bathroom mirror, written in steam or with an invisible product revealed by heat: A refuge is useful only if she believes she is alone inside it. Selene felt the fatigue vanish. Not replaced by fear. By something harder. Eden checked the bathroom, the closets, the corners. - Get out. - No. - Selene. - No. She approached the mirror. The letters were already beginning to fade. She took a photo with her phone. - They want me to doubt every place where I can breathe. - Yes. - So I am not giving them that. She took the Fig candle. - Do you have another room? - Yes. - Give it to someone else. Eden stared at her. - You want to stay here? - Yes. - Someone came in. - Exactly. She set the candle on the table. - This room becomes useful if I know it is trapped. Like Irina's. Eden's expression changed. - You want to turn the trap. - I want to stop moving house inside other people's fear. He was silent. Then he nodded. - Very well. - But you are giving me an interior lock. - Yes. - And a camera in the corridor only. - Yes. - And I want to know who had access. - You will have it. She should have been satisfied. She was not. The Fig candle burned between them. Trapped refuge. But this time, Selene did not retreat. She blew out the flame herself.
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