The train back to Paris left Cannes on Sunday evening. Isabelle slept against his shoulder for most of the journey north, her breathing slow and even, one hand loosely holding his. Lucas did not sleep. He watched the darkness outside the window and let his mind move through the week ahead the way a hand moves across a map — not anxious, simply oriented.The Riviera had given him something he had not expected: stillness. Not the stillness of a man without problems, but the stillness of a man who has separated himself from the noise of them long enough to hear his own thinking clearly. He knew what needed doing. He knew the order. He did not need to be angry about it anymore.Édouard had been quiet for eleven days. That was not peace. That was preparation.The train pulled into Gare de Lyon just after midnight. They took a taxi to the Marais first. Isabelle was half-asleep as he walked her to the door of the boulangerie, and she kissed him with the unhurried warmth of someone who has st