Chapter 25 - Chapter 25: The Trap Sprung

The Dubois factory stood silent under a moonless sky, its brick walls swallowed by darkness save for the faint glow of a single lantern hung by the main gate. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of cooling steel and the distant tang of pine from the estate's woods, but Julien's senses were razor-sharp, tuned to the faint rustle of leaves and the ominous whiff of rich tobacco that had haunted him since the trial. Inside the workshop, the ten Mark I rifles for General Leclerc's contract gleamed in a locked crate, a decoy for the trap Élise had set by spreading rumors of a "secret second batch" of designs. Victor Moreau's mysterious patron—likely Ministry official Fournier—was coming, and Julien's plan, fueled by Patrick Arnaud's strategic clarity and his own trench-honed instincts, was to catch him in the act. Julien crouched behind a stack of barrels near the factory's side entrance, his knife in hand, his heart steady despite the pulse of adrenaline. Antoine was positioned across the yard, his pistol ready, his poet's charm buried under the warrior Julien had trained. Claire, against Julien's protests, hid nearby with Élise, her auburn hair tucked under a cap, her resolve unshakable. The memory of her kiss in the garden—a fleeting spark—burned in his chest, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the mission. The saboteur's letter, the chemical oil, the coded mention of Fournier— they were pieces of a puzzle that ended tonight. A soft crunch of gravel snapped Julien's attention to the gate. Three figures emerged from the shadows, moving with practiced stealth—two burly men in dark coats, one carrying a crowbar, and a third, taller, his waxed mustache catching the lantern's glow. The tobacco scent hit Julien, rich and unmistakable: the stranger from the trial, Fournier's enforcer. They headed for the workshop door, the crowbar glinting as one man worked the lock. Julien signaled Antoine, who nodded, creeping closer. Élise, hidden in a crate's shadow, whispered to Claire, "That's him—the patron's man. Ready?" Claire's nod was fierce, her hand gripping a wrench as a makeshift weapon. The lock clicked, and the men slipped inside. Julien waited, counting seconds, then moved, silent as a ghost from his trench days. He slipped through the door, Antoine at his back, and saw the men prying open the decoy crate, their whispers sharp. "Where's the new designs?" the mustached man hissed. "Moreau said they'd be here." Julien stepped into the light, his knife gleaming, his voice cold. "Looking for something, gentlemen? Those rifles are mine, and so's this factory." The men froze, the mustached one reaching for a pistol, but Antoine was faster, his own gun trained on the man's chest. "Don't," Antoine said, his voice hard. "Drop it." Claire and Élise emerged, blocking the exit, Claire's wrench raised, Élise clutching a rope. The burly men hesitated, but the mustached man sneered, his tobacco scent choking the air. "You're out of your depth, Dubois. The patron owns more than you know. You can't stop him." Julien's blood boiled, his past life's losses—Antoine's blood, France's ruin—fueling his resolve. "Fournier's finished," he said, stepping closer. "We've got your letter, your oil, your spies. Leclerc's waiting for this evidence. Talk, or you're done." The man lunged, his pistol flashing, but Julien was ready, tackling him to the ground, his knife at the man's throat. Claire swung her wrench, dropping one of the burly men, while Antoine pinned the other. Élise, quick as a fox, tied their hands, her grin fierce. "Nice trap, brother," she said, kicking the mustached man's fallen pistol away. The man spat, his voice low. "Fournier's untouchable. He's got the Minister, half the Ministry. You'll burn for this." Julien's grip tightened, his soldier's instincts screaming to end it, but Arnaud's clarity held him back. "We'll see who burns," he said, hauling the man up. "Antoine, get them to the stables. Élise, grab their satchel—check for papers." As they secured the men, Claire's hand brushed Julien's, her eyes fierce with pride. "You did it," she whispered. "But Fournier's still out there." Julien nodded, his heart heavy with her closeness and the fight ahead. The satchel held a damning find—a letter signed by Fournier, ordering the theft and implicating Roche. It was enough to bury them both. As they dragged the men to the stables, the tobacco scent faded, but Julien's vigilance didn't. Leclerc's meeting was tomorrow, and with this evidence, Fournier's empire would crumble. But as dawn broke, a new sound cut the air—a distant rumble, not thunder, but hooves. Riders, approaching fast. Julien's hand tightened on his knife, his eyes meeting Claire's. The trap had sprung, but the patron's reach was long, and the real battle was just beginning.