Chapter 28 - Chapter 28: The Shadow Strikes

The Dubois estate's grounds were cloaked in the chill of early morning, the air heavy with the scent of dew-soaked grass and the faint, acrid tang of smoke from the factory's furnaces, now dormant in the pre-dawn quiet. Julien stood at the factory's main gate, his breath misting as he inspected the reinforced locks he'd ordered after the banquet. The contract for a thousand Mark I rifles was secure, General Leclerc's faith unwavering, but the new note from last night—Well played, Dubois. But the game's not over. Watch your back—burned in his pocket, its rich tobacco scent tying it to the "silent partner" who'd eluded his trap. Victor Moreau was broken, Fournier arrested, but this unseen enemy, higher and more dangerous, was closing in, and Julien's past life—Antoine's blood, France's ruin—drove him to stay vigilant. Antoine joined him, his pistol tucked in his coat, his poet's grin replaced by a grim alertness honed by weeks of Julien's training. "You didn't sleep, did you?" he said, his voice low as he scanned the treeline. "That note's got you spooked. Think it's the 'silent partner' Élise mentioned?" Julien nodded, his hand on the knife in his belt, his soldier's instincts sharp. "It's them. Fournier was a puppet, like Moreau. This one's smarter—staying in the shadows, watching. They know we're scaling up the factory, and they'll hit where it hurts." He glanced at the workshop, where the ten trial rifles gleamed, ready for delivery, and the new workers bustled, guided by Élise's streamlined layout. Claire approached, her auburn hair tied back, her hazel eyes fierce with worry and resolve. She'd insisted on joining the dawn patrol, her wrench tucked in her skirt, a reminder of her fight against the saboteurs. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Julien," she said, her voice soft but firm, her hand brushing his arm. "We've got the contract, the rifles—let us carry some of this." Julien's heart stirred, her touch a spark he couldn't indulge, not with danger so close. "I need you safe, Claire," he said, his voice low. "You and Antoine. If this 'partner' strikes, I can't lose you." The memory of Antoine's death in his past life choked him, but he pushed it down, focusing on her steady gaze. Before she could reply, a sharp crack split the air—a gunshot, echoing from the factory's rear. Julien's knife was out in an instant, his body moving before his mind caught up. "Antoine, with me. Claire, get Élise and the stablehands—now!" He sprinted toward the sound, Antoine at his heels, their boots pounding the dirt. At the factory's back door, a worker—Paul, the loyal foreman—lay slumped, blood seeping from a graze on his shoulder. A broken lock hung from the door, and the faint whiff of rich tobacco lingered, chilling Julien's blood. Inside, the workshop was chaos: a crate of rifle parts overturned, tools scattered, and a small fire smoldering in a corner, licking at a stack of blueprints. Julien grabbed a bucket of sand, dousing the flames, while Antoine checked Paul, who groaned, clutching his wound. "They came for the designs," Paul rasped. "Two men… one with a mustache, fancy coat. Got away when I shouted." Julien's jaw clenched, the tobacco scent tying the attack to the "silent partner." "Fournier's enforcer," he said, his voice hard. "He's back." He scanned the workshop, relief flooding him as he saw the trial rifles untouched, but the scattered parts meant delays—exactly what the enemy wanted. Claire and Élise burst in, stablehands behind them, armed with cudgels. Élise's eyes widened at the mess, her notepad already out. "They didn't get the rifles," she said, her voice sharp, "but they're slowing us down. I found this by the door." She held up a cigarette butt, its rich scent matching the note's. "They're taunting us." Julien's mind raced, Patrick Arnaud's strategic clarity cutting through the panic. "They want us off­balance before Leclerc's delivery," he said. "We clean this up, double the guards, and finish the rifles. Élise, check the workers—someone let them in. Claire, get Paul to a doctor. Antoine, you're with me—we're hunting." Claire's hand gripped his, her eyes fierce. "Don't be reckless, Julien. We need you alive." Her voice trembled, but her resolve held, and he nodded, the weight of her care anchoring him. As Claire and Élise organized the cleanup, Julien and Antoine scoured the grounds, following faint bootprints to the woods. The tobacco scent faded, but a glint in the underbrush caught Julien's eye—a pocket watch, engraved with a crest he didn't recognize, its chain broken. "Not Fournier's," he said, pocketing it. "This is our 'partner.'" Back at the factory, the workers rallied, the damage repaired by noon, but the attack had cost them hours. Julien sent a message to Leclerc, detailing the sabotage and the watch, urging him to investigate the crest. As the sun climbed, Antoine clapped his shoulder, his grin faint but real. "We're still standing, mon ami. They hit us, but they didn't win." Julien nodded, his hand brushing the note in his pocket, its words a chilling promise: The game's not over. The rifles were safe, the contract intact, but the "silent partner" was out there, and the next strike would be harder. With Claire's fire, Antoine's loyalty, and Élise's cunning, Julien steeled himself for the fight ahead, his past life's losses fueling his vow to protect them all.