Chapter 21 - Chapter 21: A Romantic Stir

The Dubois estate's garden was a quiet haven under the late afternoon sun, its rosebushes heavy with blooms and the air sweet with their fragrance, mingling with the faint earthiness of freshly turned soil. Julien sat on a stone bench, his hands stained with factory grease, his mind tangled with the looming Ministry inspection and the faint tobacco scent that haunted the workshop's edges. Élise's streamlined factory layout had sped up production—the ten Mark I rifles for General Leclerc's trial were nearly complete—but the threat of sabotage, tied to Victor Moreau and the mysterious "patron," loomed larger than ever. The decoded letter's warning of a factory takeover and Roche's delayed trial felt like a noose tightening, but for a moment, the garden offered a rare pause. Claire Lefèvre appeared at the garden's edge, her auburn hair catching the sunlight, her simple blue dress swaying as she approached. Julien's heart skipped, a flicker of his past life stirring— Claire's quiet strength had been a beacon he'd never dared follow after Antoine's death. Now, her presence was both comfort and danger, a distraction he couldn't afford but craved. "You've been avoiding me, Julien Dubois," Claire said, her voice teasing but her hazel eyes sharp, searching his face. She sat beside him, close enough that he caught the faint lavender of her perfume. "Antoine says you're saving France, but you can't spare a moment for an old friend?" Julien forced a grin, his playboy charm surfacing to mask the weight of his secrets—his past life, Patrick Arnaud's knowledge, the spy's threats. "Saving France is a full-time job, Claire," he said, leaning back. "But for you, I'll make an exception." Her laugh was soft, but her gaze held his, unflinching. "You're different, Julien. Not the boy who used to tease me about my poetry or steal my books. Antoine's noticed it too. What's changed?" Her hand brushed his, a fleeting touch that sent warmth through him, stirring memories of stolen glances in his youth. He hesitated, the truth of his rebirth and the coming war too heavy to share. Instead, he deflected, his voice light. "Maybe I'm just growing up. Or maybe it's the rifles—turns out, building weapons makes you serious." He nodded toward the factory, its distant hum a reminder of his deadline. Claire's eyes softened, but her tone stayed firm. "Don't lie to me, Julien. I know you. You're carrying something—something big. And it's not just Moreau or the Ministry." She paused, her fingers lingering near his. "You don't have to tell me, but don't shut me out." Julien's chest tightened, her words echoing Marguerite's intuition. He saw her in his past life— grieving Antoine, her warmth dulled by loss. He couldn't let that happen again. "Claire," he said, his voice low, "I'm fighting for something bigger than me. For Antoine, for the family, for… us." The last word slipped out, raw and unguarded, and he froze, his soldier's instincts warring with the ache in his heart. Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing, but she didn't pull away. "Us?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Careful, Julien. You're not the only one fighting for something." Her hand squeezed his, brief but deliberate, and for a moment, the garden felt like the only world that mattered. A rustle in the rosebushes broke the spell. Julien's hand dropped to his knife, his eyes scanning the shadows. The tobacco scent—faint, acrid—hit him, and his pulse spiked. "Stay here," he whispered, standing, his body coiled like a spring. Claire's eyes narrowed, her voice steady despite the tension. "Not a chance. If you're in trouble, I'm with you." She rose, her posture defiant, and Julien couldn't help but admire her fire. He crept toward the bushes, Claire close behind, her presence both a comfort and a risk. A cigarette butt lay in the dirt, still smoldering, its brand matching the spy's. No figure emerged, but the message was clear: they were still watched. Julien's mind raced, Arnaud's strategic clarity cutting through the fear. The inspection tomorrow was a trap—Roche and Moreau would use it to sabotage the rifles or worse. "We need to get to the factory," he said, turning to Claire. "The rifles are locked down, but I don't trust Roche's men. Tell Antoine to meet me there—armed." Claire nodded, her face set with determination. "I'm coming too. Antoine's my brother, and you're… you. I'm not sitting this out." Julien wanted to argue, to keep her safe, but her resolve stopped him. "Fine," he said, his voice soft but firm. "But stay close, and no heroics." He took her hand, a fleeting gesture that felt like a promise, and they hurried toward the factory. As they reached the workshop, the hum of machinery greeted them, but so did Élise, her face pale, a wrench in hand. "Julien, I found another note," she whispered, holding out a scrap of paper. "Slipped under the workshop door. It says, 'Inspection's your last chance. Give up, or the factory burns.'" Julien's blood ran cold, but Claire's hand tightened on his, grounding him. The trial was days away, the contract within reach, but Moreau's "patron" was playing a dangerous game. With Claire's fire and Élise's spark beside him, Julien felt his resolve harden. He'd protect them all—and the Mark I—or die trying.