The Audi RS6 purred softly through the evening traffic.
Yvan's eyes stayed locked on the rearview mirror.
Three cars behind them, a plain gray Peugeot followed at a steady, almost mechanical pace.
— He's not letting go, Mélo muttered, one hand resting on the duffel bag holding his equipment. Where are we taking him? Not Lyam's HQ, that's too risky.
— No, Yvan replied, sharply turning toward the Javel docks — a stretch of warehouses and abandoned industrial ground. We'll take him somewhere noise doesn't matter.
The Peugeot accelerated, taking the bait.
The driver probably thought the two kids were panicking, trying to isolate themselves.
That was his first mistake.
His second was thinking he was the only hunter tonight.
Yvan stopped the car at the end of a dead-end road, boxed in between two rusted containers.
He turned off the engine.
Silence fell. Heavy.
Only the faint sound of the Seine rippling in the distance remained.
The Peugeot stopped ten meters away.
A man stepped out.
Same guy from earlier. Gray tracksuit jacket, black T-shirt underneath.
Not a movie hitman — more like a low-tier cleaner. The kind of guy the Old Man sent for dirty errands.
— Well, well… the kids, huh? the man called out, walking toward them with one hand in his pocket. Got lost? Didn't finish your strawberries with the pretty girls?
Yvan stepped out of the car, Mélo right behind him.
Calm. Controlled.
Yvan adjusted his cuff, his face unreadable.
— We got tired of the audience, Yvan said. We prefer private conversations. So… who sent you? The Old Man worried about his cigars?
The man chuckled, but his eyes hardened.
— The Old Man doesn't like leaks. And he doesn't like kids pretending to be rich with money they didn't earn. He wants to know where your watch comes from, Yvan. And why Mélo wasn't at his post last night.
— Tell the Old Man my watch is worth more than his life, Yvan cut in coldly. And if he wants answers… he can come get them himself.
The man pulled out a switchblade.
— We'll start by hurting you a little. Helps with memory.
A red dot suddenly appeared on his chest.
Right over his heart.
He froze instantly.
The laser barely moved.
— What the—?
— That? a calm voice answered behind him. That's the future.
Lyam stepped out from the shadows of a container, a phone in his hand.
Up on a nearby warehouse, the silhouette of a sniper briefly shifted into view.
Lyam's usual relaxed smile was there…
…but his eyes were empty.
— You see, my friend, Lyam said, walking closer to the now terrified man, my people are valuable. You don't follow my gentlemen without permission.
He glanced at Yvan.
— So? You want us to handle him… or you got a message for his boss?
Yvan walked forward slowly.
No weapon.
He didn't need one.
He grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close.
— You're going back to the Old Man, Yvan whispered, his voice colder than steel. And you're going to tell him this…
If he even looks at Michou, Jecolia, or Lynn again…
I won't just sell his secrets.
I'll sell his territory, his head… and every single one of his men to the highest bidder.
And trust me… I already have buyers.
He shoved him away.
— Get lost.
The man didn't hesitate.
He rushed back into his Peugeot and sped off, nearly crashing into a pole.
Lyam slipped his phone back into his pocket and tapped Yvan on the shoulder.
— Not bad. The "protective gentleman" act suits you.
He paused, his tone turning slightly more serious.
— But be careful, Yvan. You just declared war on the local mafia… over sushi and vanilla ice cream. That's bad for business.
— It's not about the ice cream, Lyam said, getting back into the RS6. It's to remind them…
they don't know who we are.
11:30 PM — Yvan's Room
Yvan sat on his bed, in the dark.
His phone lit up.
A message from Michou.
"Sorry about earlier. I was a bit harsh. Are we meeting at school tomorrow for the final stuff? I need to ask you something."
Yvan stared at the screen.
He had protected their lives tonight.
But at what cost?
He sighed and typed a short reply.
"It's fine. See you tomorrow."
He set the phone down.
His hands weren't shaking.
But his heart…
felt like stone.
He had money. Power. Protection.
But he had never felt this alone.